[ Mixed Tech ]
RecruitmentRural Collective #103, Region #5, Socialist Worker's Republic of New Freedomstan
Five years after the war
"That is all well and good," the haggard Commissar said, eyeing foreman 285-656 "But the fact remains that we need more soldiers for the front. Orders from the Central Committee, comrade."
Rural Collective #103 was a small collection of villages and farmland in northern Region #5, not far away from rebel-held territories. 999-537 had grown up in, and remained in, the collective all her life and was tasked with the maintenance of the tractors. Of course, after the petrol stopped coming in, the tractors were useless and these days she mostly did whatever minor repairs and technical tasks came up. They had lost electricity three years ago, and the plumbing system had broken down before that.
999-537, like most Redlanders, was darker of skin than the northern Commissar, not that it mattered in the Nefreedian Socialist Republic. As long as you were human, further distinctions were irrelevant. She kept her hair short, and like everyone else she was dressed in loose, beige clothing, mass-produced for the rural Redlander population at Collective #5, since the standard citizen's uniform would be unlivable in the temperatures they were used to. Blue eyes, dubbed icy by some, set her somewhat apart from the rest in the collective, barring the woman who had given birth to her and comrade 294-111, as the majority of Redlanders had brown or green eyes.
"We barely have enough healthy people to keep up the quota," foreman 285-656, the leader of RuColl103, a middle-aged man and hardline adherent of the principles of Nefreedian Socialism, said "But if it is the Will of the Party, we can round up maybe ten."
"Try fifty," the Military Commissar responded, his grey uniform partially in tatters, and 999-537 noticed he was missing several fingers. The troops accompanying him was in similar bad shape, with their once proud uniforms patched up and one of them had replaced the standard issue boot with a high-heeled shoe "The rebels, the bourgie scum of the earth that they are, are giving many of our troops the gift of martyrdom."
"Fifty?" the foreman said, and wiped his brow. The harsh Redland sun was particularly brutal this summer, and the lack of breeze accentuated the heat of the 45 degree rays "I'll try."
The Commissar nodded "Good man. We'll be staying here until we got the soldiers, which I expect by tomorrow. Come on, comrades."
"Of course, of course," the foreman said, and guided the soldiers to one of the buildings that now laid barren. The past few years had been harsh, especially since veterinarian 582-371 committed suicide, leaving the community with no-one with adequate medical training. It seemed as if half the collective had showed up to greet the tired soldiers.
After showing the soldiers inside to the old rationing warehouse, now unused as supplies had drained up. The Luxury Ration Vouchers had become all but worthless, but they persevered as well as they could, 999-537 figured. All things considered they might be lucky, she figured as she saw the foreman return to the crowd, seemingly making a headcount. The rural collective barely had five hundred people in total, and now a tenth of those would have to go. Being only seventeen years since her birth, 999-537 had yet to do any sort of military service to the state, but considering the rest of the collective...
"First," the foreman said "We can try for volunteers. Who among you want to serve the Sacred Republic? No-one is too young and no-one is too old, I've been informed."
It always went automatically. 999-537 stepped ahead, as did two dozen more. Old 364-673, who had served in the Revolution, not to mention 462-574 who probably only wanted to avoid the harvest. 999-537 didn't much want to, but she was relatively useless to the collective. In the military she might be of service to the state and the party, which she wasn't know, and was told as much with regularity.
The foreman did a quick count. "Thirty-eight... good, thats... good. Well, then we need to draft some. 741-485! Inform the housing units each must provide one soldier, barring the units that already have someone brave enough to give their lives for us all!"
999-537 felt like a rock dropped in her stomach, and the rest of the day seemed to go by in a blur. 281-475, who had given birth to her and was incidentally in the same housing unit, helped her pack for the day. 835-673, another in her housing unit, gave her a knife and a small bottle of #13ite Vodka he'd been saving up. It was all very touching, but 999-537 could only mutter a thanks.
Highland Zone #3, Region #5, Socialist Worker's Republic of New Freedomstan
It had been a harsh week. Fifty, exactly, of the RuColl103ites had been marching north by foot, led by the soldiers and Commissar. The Commissar's number was 522-555, but he went by a name, which 999-537 had difficulty remembering. Ulo? Ole? Something like that. She always had difficulty with the ones who clinged to names, but evidently he was from Region #2 which made it understandable, if strange.
They passed by as far from the Collective than 999-537 had ever been, and on the third day she realized they had been lucky... People's Collective #9, a city that 999-537 had been to four times in her life, had once been in a valley they were now looking down at. Were...
The Commissar called for a stop, and pointed at the ruins of the city. The centre of it was just... gone... and 999-537 realized it hurt her eyes just to look at it. It seemed to be a... swirling something, there, dark but also extremely light. On the outskirts it was more clear, with abandoned streets, and one remaining high-rise building 999-537 recognized as the former district headquarters of the People's Civilian Commissariat.
"See, comrades, if you haven't already," the Commissar said with a somber tone "This is what the rebels have done. The Sacred Republic has lost a billion souls. Your duty is to repay this treachery on the filthy rebels who survived our righteous retribution."
They continued even moreso in silence. Earlier they had been silent from order, but now no-one had anything they wanted to say. 999-537 remembered visiting a friend of hers, 563-574 who had moved to People's Collective #9 to study... It was... She was... She knew she was dead, but seeing it... She shook her head and continued onwards.
The first day away from the collective had gone to drills. They were to march in formation. 999-537 had no idea how the Commissar managed to keep pace, let alone lead the formation, in that heavy coat of his. But he did so, and after nine hours of marching, there were further drills. Formation, order, how to move under fire... 999-537 had never been so exhausted in her life, but the Commissar seemed like a reasonable enough man.
Then 462-574 broke formation...
The man who had been born twenty years prior spotted something along the abandoned road, by a small cluster of bushes, and had run to pick it up. 999-537 was next to him in the three-man wide formation, and for a moment hesitated if he had seen something and she should run away too.
"Halt!" the Commissar roared from the front, and 999-537 stopped. Like any good Redlander girl, she had been raised to obey authority.
The Commissar stampeded back, and 462-574 looked back confused, an Ilin mushroom in his right hand, and 999-537 understood. The pale red mushroom could be amusing at times, and it could seemingly grow everywhere, but even then it was rare to find a mature one. 992-572 had taught her how to extract its juices, which when put into vodka gave it... interesting effects.
"What the fuck are you doing?" the Commissar said, and 999-537 now noticed he had his pistol out.
"I.. saw this..." 462-574 said and held up the mushroom "Its... good eating?"
The Commissar looked dumbfounded on 462-574, then at 999-537.
"Comrade-Conscript, do you think its hard to keep in formation?"
"No, Comrade-Commissar." 999-537 answered, which in hindsight she somewhat regretted.
The Commissar grabbed 462-574 with his left hand, the one lacking two fingers, and somehow managed to lift the heavyset farmer in one move, before barking into his face:
"See, Comrade-Idiot? Its not that bloody hard to keep in a damn formation, even for a little girl! Is picking up a mushroom worth the destruction of Nefreedian Socialism, Comrade-Imbecile?"
"N-no..."
"What do you think we are doing here, Comrade-Titsforbrains?" the Commissar continued "We are fighting a battle against barbarism, subhumanism and capitalism! We are the only bulwark of civilization and progress in this Marxforsaken land, and you decide to go for a picnic?" the Commissar threw 462-574 on the ground, then aimed his pistol at him "The only reason you are alive, Comrade-Moron, is that you are of use to our Republic and our people! If you stop being of use and stop obeying, you are of no use to anyone, except as emergency rations!" he fired a shot, next to 462-574's head, who whimpered "Have I made myself clear, comrades? Keep the damned formation!"
The rest of the march went by without incident, but with far less comments directed at the Commissar.
Military Outpost #2, Region #5, Socialist Worker's Republic of New Freedomstan
Finally, they reached their destination. 999-537 was certain her legs were already dead, and she would soon follow, if they were to march for one more mile. They reached Military Outpost #2 by midday on the eight day, having went slower than expected due to 364-673 spraining his foot as they marched along the rocky hills.
"Well done," the Commissar said and gave a quick salute "You'll be left in the hands of C-2 573-598 from here on out, who will hopefully make soldiers out of most of you." he glared at 462-574 as he said it "Remember comrades, you are soldiers of New Freedomstan. Serve with glory, and your memory is eternal." he saluted, and stepped off, the woman he referred to as C-2 573-598 approaching them. She was a short woman, a Redlander, and unlike the Commissar and the soldiers that had come for them, hers was well-kept and whole.
"You've had a long way to walk, I've heard comrades," she said with a smile, and there were some nods from the gathering of farmers "You'll be happy to hear you won't be starting your training until tomorrow. Uniforms will be assigned at the quartermaster's office," she pointed "And you have been assigned beds 23 through 59 of Barracks #3. I'm afraid some of you will have to share beds, but I'm sure that is no problem for stout #5ites such as yourselves. Now, how many of you have served in our glorious military forces already?"
364-673 and fifteen others raised their hands, and the officer nodded "Good. You'll be heading straight to the frontlines after one week. The rest of you, I welcome you to MilSov #4 of the 7th Battalion of the 2nd Brigade. Dismissed."
Time went by fast. 999-537 got a... used uniform, and spent the evening cleaning out the blood and trying to sew up the holes. It was a bit too large for her, but she shouldn't complain after seeing 462-574 in a uniform three or so sizes too small. If he hadn't picked on her throughout their childhood she might have been inclined to offer to switch. The training was harsh, but better than marching in the Redland sun. 999-537 excelled in the shooting aspect, to the extent she was made the marksman of her submilsov of ten individuals. On the second day, they were joined by another group from Rural Collective #87 and some from #143, all of them making up MilSov #4.
"That is kinda unusual," 364-673 commented one evening, him, 999-537 and three others from #103 sitting around trying to heat up their rationpaste, mixing in a bit of vodka to give it a bit of flavour.
"What is?" 102-102 asked, one of the others as young as 999-537
"Forming a MilSov with just recruits," 364-673 said, scratching his greying hair "Normally its a mixture of veterans and conscripts in any given MilSov... Unless the former MilSov #4 got wiped out to the man."
"Is... that normal?" 999-537 asked
364-673 shook his head "Not in any of the wars I was in. But... Well, this war is unusual. I've heard on the radio that most of the country is even worse off than we are. Region #4 is just gone, as is the capital." he whispered now, talk like this being borderline treasonous "They also mentions deadzones, abberation zones, chaos zones..." he coughed "I listened in on broadcasting from the, ahem, midlands," he said and looked around "The traitor broadcasts. They called it chaos zones, before the broadcasting, well, died out. From what I heard, it wasn't pretty. And we haven't heard anything from #4 in years."
The others looked at each other. They knew 364-673 liked to tinker with radios, but listening to unorthodox broadcasts made 999-537 uncomfortable. It was against the law.
"Not that I pay it any head, but since they stopped tv broadcasts I wanted to know what happened," 364-673 continued, defending himself, and eyeing the ones sitting around the small fire of twigs they had made on the outskirts of the outpost "There's no harm in that, right?"
"I guess not..." 102-102 said "What else did you learn?"
"Well, they used some of those new fangled bombs. The ones they used up in #20, but now they used them everywhere. Might be why the weather has been so strange... From what I hear, the #20ites have to deal with firestorms and blizzards, sometimes right after another. But... no-one has heard from #20 in years either. It seems to be just #5 and #6 left."
"Just #5 and #6?" 102-102 asked "But I thought half of the country remained loyal?"
"From what I can gather, they are loyal... and dead." 364-673 said, and prodded his bowl of rationpaste with a stick "It seems almost ready, yeah?"
The next day, 364-673 was gone. 999-537 hadn't said anything, but remembered how 102-102 had seemingly noted everything he had been saying... Well, she wouldn't ask about it. The next weeks went to further drills, firing exercises, marksmanship training, learning how to use all their equipment inside and out... How to disable vehicles that could be in use among the rebels, driving for some. Then there were the lectured by Commissar 563-754, giving them a deeper understanding of Nefreedian Socialism and of Communism, and of the patriotic ideals of the union of SWRNF. The outpost had half-a-dozen tanks and IFVs, with about fifteen trucks, but they saved the gasoline like it was liquid gold. They were going to be marching by foot to wherever, from what 999-537 could gather, but it was apparently not many days away.
On the final day of training, the C-2 and Commissar 563-754 who had overseen their morale and ideological purity, had assembled them. They were eighty-four in total, somewhat understrength for a MilSov, but 999-537 felt ready.
"Comrades," C-2 573-598 began as they stood in formation inside the outpost. The staffers and other soldiers were mainly involved with their own jobs and training, but some were looking on "Today I am proud to call you Soldiers. Soldiers of Region #5, most honoured member of the union of the Socialist Worker's Republic of New Freedomstan! Your enemy awaits your bullet, your shovel and your bayonet, and with your training, discipline and zeal, none can stand in your way. Your task is to reinforce our position in #4 against the subhuman scourge that is threatening our sibling-region of #6, and maintain the Nefreedian Union. You will be transported by trucks, rather than march, as your aid is essential."
Commissar 563-754 stepped forwards now, taking the word "Comrade-Soldiers! What awaits you is grim and bloody, and most of you will not survive this war. Most of you will perish in the fight against the subhuman, the traitor and the bourgeois. But know this. Each and every one of you will be remembered for Millennia. Your names are recorded, and the honoured dead will be written in fire on the Wall of the Martyrs. Millions of martyrs have perished for the cause, for you, and now Socialism and New Freedom demands your sacrifice. Comrades, do not despair! History is with us, and for each of us who fall, the closer we are to ridding our sacred lands of the traitors that have defiled it!"
"Err, thank you Commissar," C-2 573-598 continued "Comrade-Soldiers, it is true that death is a part of war, but your goal isn't to die. Your goal is to win the war, and once more usher peace and socialism across the land. We are experiencing victory after victory, and have regained hundreds of kilometers of lost land in the past years. Those of you who do commit the ultimate sacrifice for the fatherlands will be honoured on the Wall of Martyrs, and those who survive will be honoured with peace, glory and honour! Now, let us sing the Anthem of #5!"