"This is a story of heroes, of men and women fighting against the odds for something bigger than themselves. But it’s not a story of victory. This is a story of how we lost.
This is how Europe fell."
This is how Europe fell."
OOC
“All NATO personnel are to…[static]…Brussels. All survivors are to engage in a fighting…[static] – drawal. An evacuation is underway.”
- Looping Radio Broadcast, NATO Euro-front Command Frequency
- Looping Radio Broadcast, NATO Euro-front Command Frequency
Antwerp, Belgium – 14th January, 2025
It was eerie. Antwerp had once been a thriving city with more than half a million residents, but now it was reduced to little more than a ghost town. The usual heavy sounds of city life, of idle chatter and countless souls making their daily commute, were replaced by an oppressive silence shattered only by the constant tapping of flashing red traffic lights. Homes and offices stood abandoned, meals and vehicles left abandoned as their owners had evacuated as soon as word of the line’s collapse had reached them. It felt as if something had been brutally torn from the city’s chest.
Emilie leaned cautiously out around the street corner, the butt of her P90 pressed tightly against her shoulder. Her eyes, weary from a lack of sleep but driven to alertness by adrenaline, scanned the town square with practiced efficiency. The large open space, centred on the City Hall, was filled with brown-green tents lined in neat and orderly rows. A few bore the NATO compass on their side, but the vast majority had UNHCR plastered on their canvases, shelter originally intended for refugees fleeing Denmark and Germany. Whoever had set them up must have considered the city safe ground. Emilie almost laughed at the bitter irony. She hadn’t encountered a single contact since entering the city proper – save for a light patrol of Greys on the outer limits that had been easily avoided. The quiet, deathly peace had set her on edge after four days of desperately trying to outrun ET. At first the lack of hostiles had left Emilie confused, before sickened to the pit of her stomach. Unlike many of the cities further east, Antwerp had managed to receive some form of warning, evacuating much of its populace in the space of hours. Empty and vacant of innocents to butcher, the aliens had largely ignored the major metropolis, preferring to work their way meticulously through the countryside.
Or at least that’s what Emilie hoped.
She stood stock-still for almost a minute, hardly breathing; as if waiting for some inhuman monster to reveal itself in an ambush. Nothing did, and the soldier eventually had to give in to the need to keep moving. Bolting at full pelt, resisting the urge to allow herself to slow or take a breather in the open, Emilie raced through the small tent settlement – being sure to keep her rifle swivelling as she rounded each bend. Her course was directed straight towards one of the larger canvas structures, and she pressed herself alongside the long tent’s entrance flaps panting from the constant sprinting and darting from cover to cover. Allowing herself a few moments of respite, Emilie took a few deep breaths before thrusting open the canvas’ folds and entering into the mess hall.
Scanning the interior with her rifle, Emilie once again found herself alone. The tent was dominated by a few long tables, meant to seat all the anticipated refugees as their received their communal meals. The seats seemed polished and unused, Emilie doubted whether the camp had even seen a quarter of the expected number of inhabitants before it had found itself in the combat zone. Satisfied that she wasn’t going to be gunned down by some ET hiding in the corner, Emilie quickly made her way over to a large metal cabinet at the rear of the structure.
“Merde.” She cursed under her breath, seeing a padlock preventing her access to the box’s contents. Emilie glanced around, wondering if she could find the key hidden somewhere in the hall. The French woman bit her lip, knowing that she’d have to be luckier than she deserved to have things go that well for her. Glancing at the watch on her wrist, Emilie once again swore in her native tongue – she didn’t have the time to muck around either. Resigning herself to the lesser of two bad decisions, Emilie aimed her rifle at the lock, positioning herself clear of any potential ricochets before firing once. She cringed at the loud crack, hoping that there weren’t any hostiles close enough to have heard.
As the doors swung open, Emilie’s stomach growled loudly at the reward for her efforts. Spare rations were stacked on the shelves, and with her own having run out more than a day ago, Emilie found the hunger she’d been repressing shoot to the fore. Ditching all pretences of modesty or professionalism, the soldier tore into the closest packaging and greedily bit into whatever looked edible. The tasteless nutrient concentrate was delicious to her parched palette, and Emilie found herself – for once – appreciating NATO field rations. Grabbing a bottle of water to refill her canteen, Emilie tried to map out her path in her mind’s eye, wondering how much extra food she should carry to make it to Brussels.
