0713 hours
Radoslav Alexey pulled back the faded olive drab curtain and gazed at the metropolis outside his apartment. The rising sun cast a harsh glare on his pale face, but Radoslav could still see that District 1A was bustling with early morning activity. Civilian bureaucrats made up the bulk of this residential District with the majority working somewhere within District 1. Radoslav himself was a low level accountant for The Hub as a Data Analysist. The thought made him slide the curtain back into place with a weary sigh. District 1 was depressing enough as is without the prospect of hours of pure drudgery to look forward to.
Pulling himself away from the window, Radoslav strode across his apartment; not for the first time realizing how bare it was. A single hole riddled couch squatted in the center facing a single analog TV provided by the government were all he had. And at least the couch wasn’t always spewing some form of propaganda or public broadcast. But Radoslav’s job only earned him enough credits to barely afford his monthly rent and rations, so there was no improving the place for quite some time. His bedroom was notably better, his bed had a clean mattress and sheets along with a simple wooden dresser tucked against the wall. He went to the latter, fishing out his work clothes. He spent a few minutes getting dressed and ready then gave himself a once over in his bathroom mirror. His short black hair was neatly combed to the side in the latest muted fad that had crawled through the Districts, and his nondescript dark gray suit covering his 6’9” thin frame made him conform neatly with State dress regulations.
Finally satisfied that he was as ready as he could be, Radoslav snatched his Personal Identification Card and stepped out to the hallway. He navigated the dingy, dimly lit hallways and the mossy staircase, hurrying down three flights until he was at the ground floor. He uncharacteristically lingered for a moment near the front door of the apartment complex. It felt as if his body were willing him to go back as if it sensed some primal danger; some deep, instinctive drive stirred within him uneasily. He soon shook his head quickly and felt his cheeks become hot as shame washed over him. Here he was, standing at the front door with his arm limply holding the door handle. Jerking his head around to make sure no one had seen his little episode he pushed open the door and stepped outside.
The cold air nipped against his skin, and ice crystals blew past his lips with every breath. With a shiver he broke into a brisk walk down the icy sidewalk, cursing every God he wasn’t supposed to believe in for bringing such a horrible winter to The Metropolis. He walked past several people as he worked his way down the winding city streets, all of whom looked as miserable and determined as himself. His walk took him past the towering cement wall that encircled District 1, and it only took several minutes of jostling by intimidating, stern-faced I.C.D.F. officers and random patrols on the streets before he finally arrived in front of The Hub.
He gazed upwards at his workplace and the nerve center of the entire Empire and Dominion. It was a massive building in scale but not height, standing at what Radoslav guessed was ten stories tall. It was shaped as a cube, devoid of any windows or variations of color. When Radoslav looked at the building his eyes simply slid across the bare walls. Mentally resigning himself he walked up the staircase along with a small crowd of his work-mates, all of whom dressed in the same dark gray attire. He spotted Tomiko Ina just a few feet ahead of his on the set of stairs, and discreetly fell into step behind her until they were both nearing the sets of glass doors leading into the building. He picked up the pace as the cool recycled air swept over him to replace the freezing and polluted air of the outside to walk beside her.
“Good morning Tomiko,” he offered as they past the receptionists desk.
“It is, isn‘t it?” She responded dryly while giving him with an unapproving glance. Radoslav felt a pang of embarrassment but tried to press on.
“Did you hear about the trial of Numaukr Stanislav Sevastyan? The Court found him and a few Senators guilty of - treason I think it was.”
“Sedition.” She responded flatly while her pace increased a fraction. Radoslav didn’t notice this, and kept trying to press the conversation.
“That‘s what it was, thank you Sergeiveich. It was a little worrying for a moment, no? That someone like him would plot against his countrymen - and women” he added hurriedly.
Tomiko finally leveled her gaze at him without breaking step, a curious skill that Radoslav found unnerving.
“I don‘t feel like talking about politics during work hours, Sergeiveich. Speaking of, I have to go now. Have a nice day.”
Without waiting for a response so abruptly turned and briskly strolled down the hallway opposite of Radoslav. He watched her go for a moment, his gaze lingering on her hips and long dark brown hair before he wrenched his eyes away and sulked towards his part of the building. Eventually he found the Data Acquisition Office, a massive room with an ocean of cubicles and bodies that occupied them. He gave himself a moment to get lost in the familiar buzz of activity. The hurried but muted conversations, the sporadic ringing of the phones, rhythmic tapping of a hundred fingers against a hundred keyboards. Then he neatly tucked away the last of his individuality, went to his cubicle, and got to work.
1430
Seven hours later Radoslav sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes tiredly. The clock on his computer said 1430, but it felt even later. He had been starting at the computer screen for seven hours, watching data scroll along his screen as he sorted everything out and sent them to their proper places. His eyeballs ached, his wrist ached, his back ached, even his head ached. He scooted back in his seat and stood up despite his protesting back. Walking out of the cubicle he stared at his feet and headed down the memorized path to the break room. Normally he would grab a piece of bread and some coffee before getting right back to work, but something perked up his attention. Looking up from the stained white carpeting he noticed Tomiko standing near the food table chatting with a man Radoslav didn’t recognize. She was laughing gleefully, obviously eating up the attention from this new guy. Radoslav felt a pang of jealously, and decided to step outside for some fresh air.
When he pushed open the door and stepped back outside, the familiar cold air nipping at his skin seemed to clear his head, so he lingered at the top of the steps. He looked around, noticing small details that he hadn’t noticed about this place before, when he simply sulked inside with his eyes locked on the path in front of him. The skyline of the Metropolis for example, had a particular glimmer that he had never seen before. It’s somber ambience playfully contested with the lackluster dullness of the buildings for attention.
”Maybe this place isn‘t so bad,” Radoslav muttered softly as his eyes lowered to watch the hustle and bustle of the streets below.
With a heavy sigh he turned his back on the scene and started to head back into the building. It was right before he got into the door that a searing heat suddenly exploded all along his back, and his entire vision was consumed by a white flash. His nervous system was too slow to even send the signal of what was happening to his brain before it was violently ripped apart at an atomic level. If he had lingered for only a moment more, he might have been able to see, but not comprehend, the second sun that had suddenly blossomed a few miles away before his body was disintegrated.
Tuttslay Mountain Complex
1431
“Hmm, that‘s odd.”
Stanislav Orvar stopped leaning back in his seat and stared at his computer screen. The room he was in was as large as a theater, with large monitors taking up the front wall and rows upon rows of computers lining the room in symmetrical columns, all facing the large screens. Stanislav was near the back, and sat between two other men who he didn’t know and never spoke to. He was a low level Communications Coordinator, and it was his job to keep track of how much telephones and other tools of communication were sapping the national power grid. It wasn’t that exciting, since barely anyone had a computer and most people preferred face-to-face communication anyway, which left Stanislav to sit there for 8 hours staring at a few digits and useless projections that his computer would helpfully spit up.
But the latest model his computer had suddenly put up made no sense. All communications had suddenly ceased in a 3 mile radius in District 1. What made it deserve attention was that the Hub went dark too. After double-checking to make sure it wasn’t a glitch, he snatched up a red telephone sitting on his desk. All around him the quiet murmurs had grown louder, several phones had started ringing, and the general atmosphere was slowly transforming. But Stanislav had gotten through without much waiting.
”This is Nikifor Nestor, what‘s the problem?” A gruff voice filled Stanislav’s ear.
“Yes Sergeiveich Overseer, I think I have a small problem with my computer. It‘s telling me that the Hub just went offline, we aren‘t getting any incoming or outgoing calls from it.”
“We have heard such complaints from other sources, please remain at your station and continue to monitor the situation.”
There was a click and Stanislav was left staring at the phone.
“The fuck was that?” he muttered softly, dumping it back in its cradle just as the lights started to flicker. Just as he looked upwards, they all shut off and plunged the room into total darkness. There were startled cries and angry shouts, but moments after the emergency lights activated and washed the facility in a dim red light while a loud whirring indicated all the computers were rebooting.
“Did we just lose power?”
“We never lose power. We‘re connected directly to the main power grid.”
“What do you think just happened, then?”
The controlled and orderly chaos of before was growing in intensity, and Stanislav could feel the anxiety in the air like an electrical buzz. The lighting got marginally better as the main display screens flashed on, but this time they were at their default setting; various maps of the Empire. All of them had one thing in common: There was a massive 3 mile hole missing in what was essentially the nervous system of the entire country.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Someone get Andreas Maragos on the line now!”
Stanislav felt a hand grasp his shoulder and almost jumped out of his skin. He turned in his seat and looked up at Numaukr Samuil Gunnar, the head of the facility and Conventional Command, making him the 5th most powerful man in the entire Defesian military. His black uniform looked even darker in the dim lighting, and it made his pale features looked almost ghostly in contrast.
“Sergeiveich Minister of Defense is in District 67, but power is down in most of that sector and the airways are flooded with traffic, even the dedicated lines. Do you have a way to clear them up?”
“Erm,” Stanislav stammered, “I‘d need authorization to shut down the dedicated lines and encrypt them again -”
“Do it. We only need one.”
“Yes, Sergeiveich.”
His fingers flew across the keyboard, and within mere moments what little panicked traffic there was on-screen in most of District 67 had disappeared, with only a single one popping back up after a brief period of encryption.
“I wired it to this phone for you, Sergeiveich Numaukr,” he gestured at the red telephone on his desk that he had used earlier, “just dial this number on the screen here and it should patch you in to his office.”
“Thank you.”
Samuil picked up the telephone and dialed the number as told, and waited as it rang in his ear a few times. After the fourth ring, the voice of Minister of Defense Andreas Maragos could not only be heard in the ear of Samuil, but Stanislavs as well, although neither could know that.
“Sergeiveich Defense Minister, this is Numaukr Samuil Gunnar of the Tuttslay Mountain Complex. This is a secure line.”
“Thank the Emperor!” Andreas exclaimed loudly over a lot of shouting voices in the background, “what the hell is going on!? I just had soldiers burst into my home and dragged me out of bed to take me to a ‘secure location‘! Are we under attack!?”
“We‘re not sure, Sergeiveich. We just lost all contact with District 1 and the Hub, and the entire power grid just tripped over itself.”
“That sounds like an attack, general -- Sorry, Numaukr. Tell me you haven‘t been sitting on your ass waiting for instructions!”
“No sir, we‘re getting reports of mobilizations in every District, and Strategic Command is on high alert but has not gotten any launch detections --- excuse me.”
He lowered the phone from his mouth and reached out with his other hand to take a paper offered by a stone-faced Nestanato, who gave a crisp salute after the paper was taken from him and skimmed by Samuil. Stanislav noted that the usually somber face of the general suddenly turned paler than usual, and he took a second to recover before speaking again to the Minister.
“I-It‘s been confirmed. There was a nuclear detonation within District 1, it‘s estimated that the total area affected is a radius of 3 miles, but the radiation and fires are obviously going to spread much further.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, so Samuil continued after obvious hesitation.
“Sergeiveich. We cannot raise any other Ministers at the moment, and the Emperor’s whereabouts are unknown at this time. And we don’t have much of that left. You must give authorization to mobilize our strategic reserves --”
“I don‘t have that sort of authority.”
“-- and be prepared to retaliate swiftly to this threat. We can have planes in the air and on their way within a moments notice, I just need your authorization, Sergeiveich.”
“You realize I will commit treason by ordering you to do this?”
“I don‘t think we have the luxury of following the rules right now.”
Silence.
“Very well. As the Minister of Defense, authentication code XT7-2102, I am authorizing the mobilization of the entire Strategic arsenal of the Empire to be used at your discretion: launch authorization YJ3-9820” a pause, “what do we do now?”
“Since you have given me total control of Strategic Command, we‘re going to go under the assumption that we‘re under an all out coordinated attack by the Imperial Republic of Cyrupe, The Empire of Restored Belka, and the government of Vortiaganica as outlined in the Firestorm Protocol.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Andreas screamed, his voice crackling from the poor reception, “we don‘t even know who fucking did this you ignorant fool! You will end us all!”
“Thank you for your consideration Sergeiveich,” Samuil droned on, “but as you have already given me authorization to implement what protocols I deem fit, your objections can only be noted.”
“You will burn for this --”
Samuil terminated the call by putting the phone back into its cradle. Stanislav was visibly shocked by what had just happened, but he hid it by keeping his back to the Numaukr and staring at his screen. It was a great relief when Samuil had walked away, but it was short lived as he came onto the intercom shortly afterwards.
“Attention all personnel,” his voice boomed over the chaos erupting in the entire facility, “we are under attack and executing the Firestorm Protocol. The mountain is being sealed, and all personnel are hereby ordered to immediately man their stations. This is not a drill, we are under attack.”
His announcement was followed by the blaring of klaxons, and the massive display screens on the wall transformed into a strategic map of Adrastos, with various assets of its nuclear arsenal marked with their predetermined trajectories outlined with projected damage assements at their impact points, which covered most of Cyrupe and the other targeted nations. Stanislav didn’t know the details of the classified “Firestorm Protocol”, but he did have eyes and ears and access to secure lines of communication. But for now he simply sat as his station in shock as the prologue sounds of war built up around him.
“All stations this is Nest, authorize YJ3-9820 launch Firestorm Protocol.”
”Nest this is District 74 Airbase M4, is this a exercise?”
”District 74 Airbase M4 this is not a exercise.”
The same tune was repeated over and over as the fractured forces of the Empire all stared in disbelief at the orders they were currently getting, which all amounted to the same thing: They’d been attacked, and now they would be wiping out as many ABM systems as possible in an initial, pre-emptive attack before the entire thermonuclear arsenol of the Empire was launched at various 'enemies' throughout Adrastos.
500 kilometers from the Cyrupean border
1446
The B-1b Lancer settled in at an altitude of 14,000 meters along with several more and their compliment of escorts not far behind, and a High Altitude Observation Craft scanning the skies around and ground below with video-feeds and other electronic eyes, along with the Defesian and Cyrupean military frequencies. They were heading towards what many considered the most heavily militarized border in the region of Adrastos, if not the entire planet of Eleftheria.
A formation like this one had not been in the air since the First War of the Coalition in the 60’s, when the Supreme Chancellor had played the ultimate nuclear bluff and watched as city-state after city-state fell to his feet, begging for mercy instead of death by a nuclear firestorm. And this formation was only a single one amongst hundreds that were being flushed, not to mention the submarines sure to be silently preparing near the coast of the once mighty Imperial Republic, ever the most loved ally and most hated enemy of the Empire.
The Captain - Venyagunnar in Defesian - onboard the lead B1 tried to keep his mind off of the fact that he was about to slaughter millions of people by thinking back to his wife and son back in District 46. But it didn’t work, as after the happy thoughts of reuniting with them filled his chest with a muted joy, reality came crashing down along with the realization that he would never see them again.
“Venyagunnar,” one of his pilots remarked, “we are now 20 minutes from target. HAOC reports heavy activity on the ground, there‘s been a lot of skrimishes between border patrols and the Cyrupeans are buzzing like a hive of angry hornets. Communications have been sketchy, but apparently the Cyrupeans have already launched interceptors and they‘ll meet us right on the border if we keep our current speed.”
“Maintain heading and speed,” the Venyagunnar responded, “we‘ll continue on target. We’ve been ordered to wipe out the Cyrupean positions on the border as a prologue to a full retaliatory conventional strike, Command isn‘t clear on how many ABM systems they have deployed on it so we have to hurry; they‘re launching in thirty minutes whether or not our mission is completed so the best we can do is hurt those murdering pigs more than they have us.”
A pause.
“I have a family, Sergeiveich.”
The Venyagunnar turned away to hide the fact he had tears in his eyes now.
“As do I, comrade. As do I.”
“Are we doing the right thing?”
“It doesn’t matter. We have our orders.”
Tuttslay Mountain Complex
1452
“As the acting Numaukr of this facility and your superior officer I am ordering you to stand down.”
The entire control room seemed to be in a state of suspended animation, every screen was running their never-ceasing calculations and spitting up results, with information down to the combat effectiveness of every active brigade in the Shikovundr being listed on the main projection with estimated casualty listings as the skirmishes on the Cyrupean-Defesian border heating up, but all those manning the stations were riveted by the drama playing out in front of their own eyes.
Samuil was standing at the top of the concrete steps to the platform that overlooked the entire control room. Flanking him on either side were 3 security officers in their gray uniforms and weapons raised and leveled at another group in front of them, which was Vaslin - or Colonel - Bedelia Lynnette with several other officers, all of their weapons aimed at Samuil and his retinue. Bedelia had a graceful deadliness to her beauty, with long black hair that fell back over her shoulders just below the acceptable length for an officer of her rank, and even her voice sounded like it could slice through flesh as soon as she had started this confrontation.
“You are grossly overstepping your rank and have committed an act of treason against the Emperor and Senate of the Empire. Under Section IV Article II -”
“DON‘T FUCKING QUOTE THE RULEBOOK AT ME,” Samuil suddenly snarled viciously, startling Bedelia into silence, “we are at war! We don‘t have the luxury of following the Gods damned rulebook anymore! I am going to tell you one last time, lower your weapons or I will kill EVERY LAST FUCKING ONE OF YOU!”
Bedelia could see the barrels of the raised weapons to her sides waver from the corner of her eye, and without time to even blink she had her own 9mm service pistol upholstered and in her hand, raised at Samuils forehead. The speed startled everyone, and let Bedelia respond to the threat of her superior with burning rage in her voice.
“No, Sergeiveich. We will not be the ones that die here today if you do not stand down right now.”
Samuil let out another snarl and took a step forward as if to slap the gun out of Bedelia’s hand and strangle her.
“Listen here you stupid bitch,” he started before the gun went off and a hole the size of a dime appeared in his forehead, with brain tissue and fragments of skull exploding from the back of his head as it snapped back and he crumpled to the floor.
The guards who had been around Samuil were too startled to respond, and they stared in horror with the rest of the audience at the scene that had just unfolded before them. Bedelia coolly holstered her pistol and addressed them.
“It appears that Numaukr Samuil Gunnar is now unable to continue his duties. As the 2nd in command of this facility, I will be giving the orders around here. And my first order is for you to lower your weapons and return to your posts. You can kill me if you want, but that would solve nothing and only make our end inevitable. You will save our race if you choose to stand down, and doom it to destruction if you do not. This is your choice now, my Brothers of the Steppe.”
The guards visibly hesitated a moment, and a flutter of fear shot down Bedelia’s spine, followed by a flood of relief as they lowered their weapons.
“Thank you.”
She hurried down the steps to one of the computer stations, and ordered the man stationed on it to patch her through to Strategic Command. He was still visibly shaken, and almost thought about refusing before the cold stare of the now Numaukr Bedelia convinced him otherwise. She picked up the phone and waited for the encryption to finish, the static clearing up soon and a confused voice demanding to know who was calling.
“This is Numaukr Bedelia Lynnette of the Tuttslay Mountain Complex and all acting Shikovundr under the Articles of Military Conduct. I am ordering a total stand-down of all Strategic forces, and a recall of all deployed assets.”
“Who gave you that authority? What‘s your authentication code?”
Bedelia avoided the question.
“The launch order you received was illegal, and so if you do not obey my command to recall all forces armed with weapons of mass destruction along with every officer of Strategic Command I will have you executed and all conventional forces diverted to shooting every last one of your planes out of the sky and sinking every last submarine we can find. Do you understand me?”
There was silence on the other end of the line, with only the faint crackling of static from the shoddy connection and encryption. Bedelia felt a growing sense of dread that she would have to go forward with her bluff, and idly wondered how many Defesians would willingly open fire on their comrades at the order of a superior. Obedience to authority was burned into every Defesian at a very young age; it was practically in their genes. But the drama that had unfolded in the last hour had undone everything Bedelia had known; the execution of her superior officer was evidence enough.
The sudden voice coming out of the phone startled her back to reality, and she listened very closely. Most everyone in the control room had returned to their station, but without exception all of them gave Bedelia a degree of attention. The tension as the person on the other end of the telephone gave his response - unheard by them - was almost too much to bear.
Bedelia’s posture slumped, and without comment she hung up the phone. Everyone was now fully focused on her as she slowly walked down the aisle towards another telephone, this one marked “CNV CMD DST 6”. She picked it up, and with a voice of ashes she gave the order that would undo a civilization as old as humanity itself.
“This is Numaukr Bedelia Lynnette to all stations, authentication code 5RC-8193. I hereby give the order for the destruction of all deployed assets of Strategic Command. You are to use all available means at your disposal. Eliminate with extreme prejudice and leave no survivors.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Putting the phone back into its cradle gently, she stood where she was, lost in her own world. An audible increase in activity buzzed through headsets and on the main projectors, as first one by one then by multiple counts the icons representing the bombers and active missile silos of Strategic Command turned red and faded away. Confused shouting could be heard as the pilots of the planes who had been told nothing were suddenly engaged by the pilots who had sworn to protect them, and they in turn by those who had refused the order given by Bedelia and fought their comrades-in-arms to continue their mission.
The cries of mercy and confusion and rage could not be turned off, and all of it was channeled to the Control Room, where Bedelia could hear all that she had caused. The horrified gasps and the wide-eyed stars of the men and women who could now do nothing but watch burned on her skin. Her face was as white as snow, and her voice shook as she slowly unholstered her pistol and held it against the side of her head.
“I did my duty for the Empire.” she whispered before pulling the trigger.
Radoslav Alexey pulled back the faded olive drab curtain and gazed at the metropolis outside his apartment. The rising sun cast a harsh glare on his pale face, but Radoslav could still see that District 1A was bustling with early morning activity. Civilian bureaucrats made up the bulk of this residential District with the majority working somewhere within District 1. Radoslav himself was a low level accountant for The Hub as a Data Analysist. The thought made him slide the curtain back into place with a weary sigh. District 1 was depressing enough as is without the prospect of hours of pure drudgery to look forward to.
Pulling himself away from the window, Radoslav strode across his apartment; not for the first time realizing how bare it was. A single hole riddled couch squatted in the center facing a single analog TV provided by the government were all he had. And at least the couch wasn’t always spewing some form of propaganda or public broadcast. But Radoslav’s job only earned him enough credits to barely afford his monthly rent and rations, so there was no improving the place for quite some time. His bedroom was notably better, his bed had a clean mattress and sheets along with a simple wooden dresser tucked against the wall. He went to the latter, fishing out his work clothes. He spent a few minutes getting dressed and ready then gave himself a once over in his bathroom mirror. His short black hair was neatly combed to the side in the latest muted fad that had crawled through the Districts, and his nondescript dark gray suit covering his 6’9” thin frame made him conform neatly with State dress regulations.
Finally satisfied that he was as ready as he could be, Radoslav snatched his Personal Identification Card and stepped out to the hallway. He navigated the dingy, dimly lit hallways and the mossy staircase, hurrying down three flights until he was at the ground floor. He uncharacteristically lingered for a moment near the front door of the apartment complex. It felt as if his body were willing him to go back as if it sensed some primal danger; some deep, instinctive drive stirred within him uneasily. He soon shook his head quickly and felt his cheeks become hot as shame washed over him. Here he was, standing at the front door with his arm limply holding the door handle. Jerking his head around to make sure no one had seen his little episode he pushed open the door and stepped outside.
The cold air nipped against his skin, and ice crystals blew past his lips with every breath. With a shiver he broke into a brisk walk down the icy sidewalk, cursing every God he wasn’t supposed to believe in for bringing such a horrible winter to The Metropolis. He walked past several people as he worked his way down the winding city streets, all of whom looked as miserable and determined as himself. His walk took him past the towering cement wall that encircled District 1, and it only took several minutes of jostling by intimidating, stern-faced I.C.D.F. officers and random patrols on the streets before he finally arrived in front of The Hub.
He gazed upwards at his workplace and the nerve center of the entire Empire and Dominion. It was a massive building in scale but not height, standing at what Radoslav guessed was ten stories tall. It was shaped as a cube, devoid of any windows or variations of color. When Radoslav looked at the building his eyes simply slid across the bare walls. Mentally resigning himself he walked up the staircase along with a small crowd of his work-mates, all of whom dressed in the same dark gray attire. He spotted Tomiko Ina just a few feet ahead of his on the set of stairs, and discreetly fell into step behind her until they were both nearing the sets of glass doors leading into the building. He picked up the pace as the cool recycled air swept over him to replace the freezing and polluted air of the outside to walk beside her.
“Good morning Tomiko,” he offered as they past the receptionists desk.
“It is, isn‘t it?” She responded dryly while giving him with an unapproving glance. Radoslav felt a pang of embarrassment but tried to press on.
“Did you hear about the trial of Numaukr Stanislav Sevastyan? The Court found him and a few Senators guilty of - treason I think it was.”
“Sedition.” She responded flatly while her pace increased a fraction. Radoslav didn’t notice this, and kept trying to press the conversation.
“That‘s what it was, thank you Sergeiveich. It was a little worrying for a moment, no? That someone like him would plot against his countrymen - and women” he added hurriedly.
Tomiko finally leveled her gaze at him without breaking step, a curious skill that Radoslav found unnerving.
“I don‘t feel like talking about politics during work hours, Sergeiveich. Speaking of, I have to go now. Have a nice day.”
Without waiting for a response so abruptly turned and briskly strolled down the hallway opposite of Radoslav. He watched her go for a moment, his gaze lingering on her hips and long dark brown hair before he wrenched his eyes away and sulked towards his part of the building. Eventually he found the Data Acquisition Office, a massive room with an ocean of cubicles and bodies that occupied them. He gave himself a moment to get lost in the familiar buzz of activity. The hurried but muted conversations, the sporadic ringing of the phones, rhythmic tapping of a hundred fingers against a hundred keyboards. Then he neatly tucked away the last of his individuality, went to his cubicle, and got to work.
1430
Seven hours later Radoslav sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes tiredly. The clock on his computer said 1430, but it felt even later. He had been starting at the computer screen for seven hours, watching data scroll along his screen as he sorted everything out and sent them to their proper places. His eyeballs ached, his wrist ached, his back ached, even his head ached. He scooted back in his seat and stood up despite his protesting back. Walking out of the cubicle he stared at his feet and headed down the memorized path to the break room. Normally he would grab a piece of bread and some coffee before getting right back to work, but something perked up his attention. Looking up from the stained white carpeting he noticed Tomiko standing near the food table chatting with a man Radoslav didn’t recognize. She was laughing gleefully, obviously eating up the attention from this new guy. Radoslav felt a pang of jealously, and decided to step outside for some fresh air.
When he pushed open the door and stepped back outside, the familiar cold air nipping at his skin seemed to clear his head, so he lingered at the top of the steps. He looked around, noticing small details that he hadn’t noticed about this place before, when he simply sulked inside with his eyes locked on the path in front of him. The skyline of the Metropolis for example, had a particular glimmer that he had never seen before. It’s somber ambience playfully contested with the lackluster dullness of the buildings for attention.
”Maybe this place isn‘t so bad,” Radoslav muttered softly as his eyes lowered to watch the hustle and bustle of the streets below.
With a heavy sigh he turned his back on the scene and started to head back into the building. It was right before he got into the door that a searing heat suddenly exploded all along his back, and his entire vision was consumed by a white flash. His nervous system was too slow to even send the signal of what was happening to his brain before it was violently ripped apart at an atomic level. If he had lingered for only a moment more, he might have been able to see, but not comprehend, the second sun that had suddenly blossomed a few miles away before his body was disintegrated.
Tuttslay Mountain Complex
1431
“Hmm, that‘s odd.”
Stanislav Orvar stopped leaning back in his seat and stared at his computer screen. The room he was in was as large as a theater, with large monitors taking up the front wall and rows upon rows of computers lining the room in symmetrical columns, all facing the large screens. Stanislav was near the back, and sat between two other men who he didn’t know and never spoke to. He was a low level Communications Coordinator, and it was his job to keep track of how much telephones and other tools of communication were sapping the national power grid. It wasn’t that exciting, since barely anyone had a computer and most people preferred face-to-face communication anyway, which left Stanislav to sit there for 8 hours staring at a few digits and useless projections that his computer would helpfully spit up.
But the latest model his computer had suddenly put up made no sense. All communications had suddenly ceased in a 3 mile radius in District 1. What made it deserve attention was that the Hub went dark too. After double-checking to make sure it wasn’t a glitch, he snatched up a red telephone sitting on his desk. All around him the quiet murmurs had grown louder, several phones had started ringing, and the general atmosphere was slowly transforming. But Stanislav had gotten through without much waiting.
”This is Nikifor Nestor, what‘s the problem?” A gruff voice filled Stanislav’s ear.
“Yes Sergeiveich Overseer, I think I have a small problem with my computer. It‘s telling me that the Hub just went offline, we aren‘t getting any incoming or outgoing calls from it.”
“We have heard such complaints from other sources, please remain at your station and continue to monitor the situation.”
There was a click and Stanislav was left staring at the phone.
“The fuck was that?” he muttered softly, dumping it back in its cradle just as the lights started to flicker. Just as he looked upwards, they all shut off and plunged the room into total darkness. There were startled cries and angry shouts, but moments after the emergency lights activated and washed the facility in a dim red light while a loud whirring indicated all the computers were rebooting.
“Did we just lose power?”
“We never lose power. We‘re connected directly to the main power grid.”
“What do you think just happened, then?”
The controlled and orderly chaos of before was growing in intensity, and Stanislav could feel the anxiety in the air like an electrical buzz. The lighting got marginally better as the main display screens flashed on, but this time they were at their default setting; various maps of the Empire. All of them had one thing in common: There was a massive 3 mile hole missing in what was essentially the nervous system of the entire country.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Someone get Andreas Maragos on the line now!”
Stanislav felt a hand grasp his shoulder and almost jumped out of his skin. He turned in his seat and looked up at Numaukr Samuil Gunnar, the head of the facility and Conventional Command, making him the 5th most powerful man in the entire Defesian military. His black uniform looked even darker in the dim lighting, and it made his pale features looked almost ghostly in contrast.
“Sergeiveich Minister of Defense is in District 67, but power is down in most of that sector and the airways are flooded with traffic, even the dedicated lines. Do you have a way to clear them up?”
“Erm,” Stanislav stammered, “I‘d need authorization to shut down the dedicated lines and encrypt them again -”
“Do it. We only need one.”
“Yes, Sergeiveich.”
His fingers flew across the keyboard, and within mere moments what little panicked traffic there was on-screen in most of District 67 had disappeared, with only a single one popping back up after a brief period of encryption.
“I wired it to this phone for you, Sergeiveich Numaukr,” he gestured at the red telephone on his desk that he had used earlier, “just dial this number on the screen here and it should patch you in to his office.”
“Thank you.”
Samuil picked up the telephone and dialed the number as told, and waited as it rang in his ear a few times. After the fourth ring, the voice of Minister of Defense Andreas Maragos could not only be heard in the ear of Samuil, but Stanislavs as well, although neither could know that.
“Sergeiveich Defense Minister, this is Numaukr Samuil Gunnar of the Tuttslay Mountain Complex. This is a secure line.”
“Thank the Emperor!” Andreas exclaimed loudly over a lot of shouting voices in the background, “what the hell is going on!? I just had soldiers burst into my home and dragged me out of bed to take me to a ‘secure location‘! Are we under attack!?”
“We‘re not sure, Sergeiveich. We just lost all contact with District 1 and the Hub, and the entire power grid just tripped over itself.”
“That sounds like an attack, general -- Sorry, Numaukr. Tell me you haven‘t been sitting on your ass waiting for instructions!”
“No sir, we‘re getting reports of mobilizations in every District, and Strategic Command is on high alert but has not gotten any launch detections --- excuse me.”
He lowered the phone from his mouth and reached out with his other hand to take a paper offered by a stone-faced Nestanato, who gave a crisp salute after the paper was taken from him and skimmed by Samuil. Stanislav noted that the usually somber face of the general suddenly turned paler than usual, and he took a second to recover before speaking again to the Minister.
“I-It‘s been confirmed. There was a nuclear detonation within District 1, it‘s estimated that the total area affected is a radius of 3 miles, but the radiation and fires are obviously going to spread much further.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, so Samuil continued after obvious hesitation.
“Sergeiveich. We cannot raise any other Ministers at the moment, and the Emperor’s whereabouts are unknown at this time. And we don’t have much of that left. You must give authorization to mobilize our strategic reserves --”
“I don‘t have that sort of authority.”
“-- and be prepared to retaliate swiftly to this threat. We can have planes in the air and on their way within a moments notice, I just need your authorization, Sergeiveich.”
“You realize I will commit treason by ordering you to do this?”
“I don‘t think we have the luxury of following the rules right now.”
Silence.
“Very well. As the Minister of Defense, authentication code XT7-2102, I am authorizing the mobilization of the entire Strategic arsenal of the Empire to be used at your discretion: launch authorization YJ3-9820” a pause, “what do we do now?”
“Since you have given me total control of Strategic Command, we‘re going to go under the assumption that we‘re under an all out coordinated attack by the Imperial Republic of Cyrupe, The Empire of Restored Belka, and the government of Vortiaganica as outlined in the Firestorm Protocol.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Andreas screamed, his voice crackling from the poor reception, “we don‘t even know who fucking did this you ignorant fool! You will end us all!”
“Thank you for your consideration Sergeiveich,” Samuil droned on, “but as you have already given me authorization to implement what protocols I deem fit, your objections can only be noted.”
“You will burn for this --”
Samuil terminated the call by putting the phone back into its cradle. Stanislav was visibly shocked by what had just happened, but he hid it by keeping his back to the Numaukr and staring at his screen. It was a great relief when Samuil had walked away, but it was short lived as he came onto the intercom shortly afterwards.
“Attention all personnel,” his voice boomed over the chaos erupting in the entire facility, “we are under attack and executing the Firestorm Protocol. The mountain is being sealed, and all personnel are hereby ordered to immediately man their stations. This is not a drill, we are under attack.”
His announcement was followed by the blaring of klaxons, and the massive display screens on the wall transformed into a strategic map of Adrastos, with various assets of its nuclear arsenal marked with their predetermined trajectories outlined with projected damage assements at their impact points, which covered most of Cyrupe and the other targeted nations. Stanislav didn’t know the details of the classified “Firestorm Protocol”, but he did have eyes and ears and access to secure lines of communication. But for now he simply sat as his station in shock as the prologue sounds of war built up around him.
“All stations this is Nest, authorize YJ3-9820 launch Firestorm Protocol.”
”Nest this is District 74 Airbase M4, is this a exercise?”
”District 74 Airbase M4 this is not a exercise.”
The same tune was repeated over and over as the fractured forces of the Empire all stared in disbelief at the orders they were currently getting, which all amounted to the same thing: They’d been attacked, and now they would be wiping out as many ABM systems as possible in an initial, pre-emptive attack before the entire thermonuclear arsenol of the Empire was launched at various 'enemies' throughout Adrastos.
500 kilometers from the Cyrupean border
1446
The B-1b Lancer settled in at an altitude of 14,000 meters along with several more and their compliment of escorts not far behind, and a High Altitude Observation Craft scanning the skies around and ground below with video-feeds and other electronic eyes, along with the Defesian and Cyrupean military frequencies. They were heading towards what many considered the most heavily militarized border in the region of Adrastos, if not the entire planet of Eleftheria.
A formation like this one had not been in the air since the First War of the Coalition in the 60’s, when the Supreme Chancellor had played the ultimate nuclear bluff and watched as city-state after city-state fell to his feet, begging for mercy instead of death by a nuclear firestorm. And this formation was only a single one amongst hundreds that were being flushed, not to mention the submarines sure to be silently preparing near the coast of the once mighty Imperial Republic, ever the most loved ally and most hated enemy of the Empire.
The Captain - Venyagunnar in Defesian - onboard the lead B1 tried to keep his mind off of the fact that he was about to slaughter millions of people by thinking back to his wife and son back in District 46. But it didn’t work, as after the happy thoughts of reuniting with them filled his chest with a muted joy, reality came crashing down along with the realization that he would never see them again.
“Venyagunnar,” one of his pilots remarked, “we are now 20 minutes from target. HAOC reports heavy activity on the ground, there‘s been a lot of skrimishes between border patrols and the Cyrupeans are buzzing like a hive of angry hornets. Communications have been sketchy, but apparently the Cyrupeans have already launched interceptors and they‘ll meet us right on the border if we keep our current speed.”
“Maintain heading and speed,” the Venyagunnar responded, “we‘ll continue on target. We’ve been ordered to wipe out the Cyrupean positions on the border as a prologue to a full retaliatory conventional strike, Command isn‘t clear on how many ABM systems they have deployed on it so we have to hurry; they‘re launching in thirty minutes whether or not our mission is completed so the best we can do is hurt those murdering pigs more than they have us.”
A pause.
“I have a family, Sergeiveich.”
The Venyagunnar turned away to hide the fact he had tears in his eyes now.
“As do I, comrade. As do I.”
“Are we doing the right thing?”
“It doesn’t matter. We have our orders.”
Tuttslay Mountain Complex
1452
“As the acting Numaukr of this facility and your superior officer I am ordering you to stand down.”
The entire control room seemed to be in a state of suspended animation, every screen was running their never-ceasing calculations and spitting up results, with information down to the combat effectiveness of every active brigade in the Shikovundr being listed on the main projection with estimated casualty listings as the skirmishes on the Cyrupean-Defesian border heating up, but all those manning the stations were riveted by the drama playing out in front of their own eyes.
Samuil was standing at the top of the concrete steps to the platform that overlooked the entire control room. Flanking him on either side were 3 security officers in their gray uniforms and weapons raised and leveled at another group in front of them, which was Vaslin - or Colonel - Bedelia Lynnette with several other officers, all of their weapons aimed at Samuil and his retinue. Bedelia had a graceful deadliness to her beauty, with long black hair that fell back over her shoulders just below the acceptable length for an officer of her rank, and even her voice sounded like it could slice through flesh as soon as she had started this confrontation.
“You are grossly overstepping your rank and have committed an act of treason against the Emperor and Senate of the Empire. Under Section IV Article II -”
“DON‘T FUCKING QUOTE THE RULEBOOK AT ME,” Samuil suddenly snarled viciously, startling Bedelia into silence, “we are at war! We don‘t have the luxury of following the Gods damned rulebook anymore! I am going to tell you one last time, lower your weapons or I will kill EVERY LAST FUCKING ONE OF YOU!”
Bedelia could see the barrels of the raised weapons to her sides waver from the corner of her eye, and without time to even blink she had her own 9mm service pistol upholstered and in her hand, raised at Samuils forehead. The speed startled everyone, and let Bedelia respond to the threat of her superior with burning rage in her voice.
“No, Sergeiveich. We will not be the ones that die here today if you do not stand down right now.”
Samuil let out another snarl and took a step forward as if to slap the gun out of Bedelia’s hand and strangle her.
“Listen here you stupid bitch,” he started before the gun went off and a hole the size of a dime appeared in his forehead, with brain tissue and fragments of skull exploding from the back of his head as it snapped back and he crumpled to the floor.
The guards who had been around Samuil were too startled to respond, and they stared in horror with the rest of the audience at the scene that had just unfolded before them. Bedelia coolly holstered her pistol and addressed them.
“It appears that Numaukr Samuil Gunnar is now unable to continue his duties. As the 2nd in command of this facility, I will be giving the orders around here. And my first order is for you to lower your weapons and return to your posts. You can kill me if you want, but that would solve nothing and only make our end inevitable. You will save our race if you choose to stand down, and doom it to destruction if you do not. This is your choice now, my Brothers of the Steppe.”
The guards visibly hesitated a moment, and a flutter of fear shot down Bedelia’s spine, followed by a flood of relief as they lowered their weapons.
“Thank you.”
She hurried down the steps to one of the computer stations, and ordered the man stationed on it to patch her through to Strategic Command. He was still visibly shaken, and almost thought about refusing before the cold stare of the now Numaukr Bedelia convinced him otherwise. She picked up the phone and waited for the encryption to finish, the static clearing up soon and a confused voice demanding to know who was calling.
“This is Numaukr Bedelia Lynnette of the Tuttslay Mountain Complex and all acting Shikovundr under the Articles of Military Conduct. I am ordering a total stand-down of all Strategic forces, and a recall of all deployed assets.”
“Who gave you that authority? What‘s your authentication code?”
Bedelia avoided the question.
“The launch order you received was illegal, and so if you do not obey my command to recall all forces armed with weapons of mass destruction along with every officer of Strategic Command I will have you executed and all conventional forces diverted to shooting every last one of your planes out of the sky and sinking every last submarine we can find. Do you understand me?”
There was silence on the other end of the line, with only the faint crackling of static from the shoddy connection and encryption. Bedelia felt a growing sense of dread that she would have to go forward with her bluff, and idly wondered how many Defesians would willingly open fire on their comrades at the order of a superior. Obedience to authority was burned into every Defesian at a very young age; it was practically in their genes. But the drama that had unfolded in the last hour had undone everything Bedelia had known; the execution of her superior officer was evidence enough.
The sudden voice coming out of the phone startled her back to reality, and she listened very closely. Most everyone in the control room had returned to their station, but without exception all of them gave Bedelia a degree of attention. The tension as the person on the other end of the telephone gave his response - unheard by them - was almost too much to bear.
Bedelia’s posture slumped, and without comment she hung up the phone. Everyone was now fully focused on her as she slowly walked down the aisle towards another telephone, this one marked “CNV CMD DST 6”. She picked it up, and with a voice of ashes she gave the order that would undo a civilization as old as humanity itself.
“This is Numaukr Bedelia Lynnette to all stations, authentication code 5RC-8193. I hereby give the order for the destruction of all deployed assets of Strategic Command. You are to use all available means at your disposal. Eliminate with extreme prejudice and leave no survivors.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Putting the phone back into its cradle gently, she stood where she was, lost in her own world. An audible increase in activity buzzed through headsets and on the main projectors, as first one by one then by multiple counts the icons representing the bombers and active missile silos of Strategic Command turned red and faded away. Confused shouting could be heard as the pilots of the planes who had been told nothing were suddenly engaged by the pilots who had sworn to protect them, and they in turn by those who had refused the order given by Bedelia and fought their comrades-in-arms to continue their mission.
The cries of mercy and confusion and rage could not be turned off, and all of it was channeled to the Control Room, where Bedelia could hear all that she had caused. The horrified gasps and the wide-eyed stars of the men and women who could now do nothing but watch burned on her skin. Her face was as white as snow, and her voice shook as she slowly unholstered her pistol and held it against the side of her head.
“I did my duty for the Empire.” she whispered before pulling the trigger.
