Join the new world

The following is written as a soldier's account of the last days of the V2 war module, and of the camaraderie displayed in the events prior to, during, and after the Battle of Liaoning. Actual events may vary, and this is the final part of the two-part story.



25 September, 2010, Day 1,040 of the New World
Let's have some music to go with the activities, yes? Rated PG13
Apply for the Airborne - but only if you can handle it.

I was once told that when you saw Death, all your pain would go away. It would be replaced by both warmth and coldness as everything slowly turned to black. I sure hoped so. We had dropped in the worst possible location - apparently the objective was switched on us at the last minute. We lost four men just from the jump and the occurrent anti-air artillery. Surely they would get a glorifying letter sent back home, filled with medal decorations and a note from President Krems saying how they died valiantly trying to free the Chinese. They would never know that it happened while they hung unarmed from a gliding piece of cloth.

I was lucky. We were lucky. Out of the entire U.S. Armed Forces, the Airborne had the most on the field. We also had the hellish job of spearheading the northern front. Southtown was still our objective, but we landed between that and Midtown. The latter was secured as the Serbians made a rapid draw back to the capital and surrounding embankments.



We operated as a single force, the night sky illuminated by a combination of flares and scorching earth. Bombers ablaze passed by like shooting stars, revealing the horrendous bridge we occupied. It had an official name, though I forget it, but we just began referring to it as "the Hot Gate." It surely was - filled with hundreds of bodies and pieces of equipment that was set on fire.

News from the south was not good. Apparently a massive battle was taking place where tanks, super soldiers, and over-buffed helicopters were clashing for control of a single plains pass between two hills. It was the entryway to the capital and the surrounding buildings and defensive structures. The good news was that the fighting was so intense that the hospitals were beginning to collapse from the pressure.



I overheard Channing and Brigadier General Maruishima discussing strategy. They planned to hold the Hot Gate until ordered otherwise. "By holding just the edge, here, we put the fight on our own terms where our expertise in close-quarter engagements will win. Also, in this narrow piece of real estate, their numbers are useless." Channing replied with a few agreements, but aside from that it was all banter.

Myself and Spartan had been entertaining ourselves with the occasional game of poker, breaking only to shoot down rogue Serbian aircraft and the occasional scout group. As time went on, the south was losing more and more. We knew we could get the call, and kept our packs ready. "82nd, you're up in three!" Called out Channing's voice over the line. Prepping, I shoved the deck of cards in my ammo pocket.

As a group, our division moved to the middle of the bridge. The Serbians had left smoldering tank and artillery obstacles everywhere - we were asked to clear the path. Grunt work, exactly what months of training guaranteed you. Luckily, or not, it would not last longer than a few seconds. Before we could begin to push our first obstacle a round broke the air and impacted the concrete just thirty or so feet away. It shot shards of concrete and rubber all over, including knocking one man in the face.



Taking cover we searched, and found our target. "Serbian armor, due south!" called out a voice from ahead. Gunfire ensued, myself and a few others pinned. When our crossfire ceased we split. By now the rest of the branch had maneuvered closer to the edge, and just in time. "Airborne, new objective. Hospital due south." Cursing and mumbling, bolts were pulled and magazines were loaded. Scattered across a span of a hundred or so yards the entire branch was dotting from the Serbians who had embanked themselves in artillery blast holes and the remains of their downed brethren.

Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Half an hour. All passed with no advance, until the reports from the south got better. Apparently they had pushed the Serbians through the pass and were working on expanding and surrounding. At this, it seemed like the enemy heard it as well and began to fall back. Reinforcements, surely.

We continued our push to the end of the bridge and were surprised to find little resistance. In fact, there was fewer than ten or so hostiles in all. "Well, so much for staying on the Hot Gate." Commented Sergeant Newton. It was a nice place to be held up, we knew the enemy could only come from one direction. Now they could be anywhere.


Now these don't look like native Chinese…

At that point, we pushed and fanned across the northern edge of the shoreline. The Serbians obviously were in panic, and we at one point made it all the way to securing the city just outside the capital. Unfortunately, success was not meant to be. Momentum was lost, reserves began to be depleted, and before long we were back at the Hot Gate. To top it off, we had lost many of our men to being wounded - luckily no deaths.

Back at the Hot Gate, it was different. Myself, Spartan, Lt. Dufresne, and a few others held the front of the line just a few hundred yards short of the southern edge of the bridge. We acted as a scouting group of just nine men while the branch remained at the base to the north. Rifles marked, we shot over destroyed tanks that was used for cover. Occasionally we would get a hit, or barely miss being hit ourselves, but no progress was being made. The news was getting worse and worse in the south, and we had not heard from the Mobile Infantry in quite some time. We were alone on the bridge.

The Serbians rushed, blindly and mad, seemingly robotic and acting as if they were programmed into this insanity. Fear did not grip us, we had seen this in Russia months ago and even in Indonesia years before. What did bring fear into our eyes was a terrible fact: We were almost out of supplies.



"Lt. Colonel Cyber Witch, we need an air drop of food, stat." Reported in Lt. Dufresne. It was met with static for a few moments, then her voice cracked over the line: "Negative. Serbian troops have landed on the north shore of the Hot Gate, reporting General Channing." It took just a few seconds of silence and gun fire for Channing to come over the line, "Lt. Dufresne, we have been cut off from the base of the Hot Gate. Advance north, there is no reinforcement." The nine of us crouched there, silent. We had heard it all, and so had the entire Airborne. "Confirmed. Lt. Dufresne, out."

He looked up, solemn eyes, and pulled his heads-up over his face. "Men, it shall be an honor to serve these last minutes alongside each and every one of you." A silent nod came with his breathing, and we reloaded our magazines and pulled back the bolts. It was time to do what we did best.

Turning our backs to the enemy, we began to sprint as a body to the north. Once we made the center of the bridge we broke into three distinct groups: Two in the forward, the bulk in the middle, and two behind. Myself and Lt. Dufresne headed the rear, it was his thought that if we were to be ambushed by our backs he should see to it that it did not happen without a few well-placed rounds.

We continued this pattern for some time until the genius, and terrible reality, of the formation revealed itself. The two heading the front were hit by a single tank round with both communication lines being sent offline simultaneously. Cursing Lt. Dufresne called for a regrouping where we huddled up in a triangular blast crater. "Let's show them what it means when we say we rendezvous with destiny!" Nodding we broke. We expected it to be a slaughter, and we would not be disappointed. Coming out of the crater stood about fourteen or so well armed Serbian infantrymen - staring us down with both hunger and resentment.


All that remains on that bridge…

With one leg in the crater and our knees bracing the concrete, we opened fire. For each time we fired, a Serbian fell. It seemed like every time a Serbian fired, one of us also fell. I heard Spartan call out, "Ammo!" I reached into my ammo pocket and grabbed the first thing I grabbed a hold of and tossed it behind my right shoulder - where I knew Spartan was. It was lighter than expected and in the corner of my eye I saw the rubber band give way and a plethora of playing cards burst and scatter throughout the air.

Spartan and I laughed in demonic humor, in a frenzy, and Lt. Dufresne joining us once he saw what had happened. As the cloud of cards began to settle, I noticed only three sets of American gun bursts; mine included.

As a Serbian jumped up over a charred vehicle I took aim and pulled the trigger. A crisp click. I dropped the magazine and called "Ammo!" Everyone was out, I knew that, but habit dies hard. I sat there, stunned, as I saw the Serbian twitch his index finger. Nothing. No bullet, no stinging pain in the chest. Only a man in front of me with a rusted firearm. The Admin were smiling upon me, and I took the opportunity without thinking. I grabbed my rifle by the barrel and rushed the poor bastard.



He could not had known what hit him before hitting the ground with a dull thud. To my right I saw Spartan, a large standard issue survival knife in his hand stained red, and Lt. Dufresne to my left wielding his officer's pistol. Just a hand's distance from the vehicle I stood in front of was a Serbian reloading. I threw my rifle at the man and knocked him across the head. Jumping onto the hood of the vehicle, nearly slipping from the soot, and I drew my own survival knife and went to finish him off.

Just as my blade struck the man's neck, the constant pain in my back faded. My aching muscles relaxed, and my headache abided. My body, formerly cold and shivering from the northern climate, began to warm. My skin remained ice cold to the wind, and the night sky turned ever so darker. The flames from the obstacles dimmed and dulled, I felt multiple pin pricks going down my back and on one instance biting my right arm where my knife rested.

Around me I heard Lt. Dufresne yelling, what it was I do not know. Spartan was quiet, I assume he was finally feeling what I did. I felt another stab at my right shoulder, and I dropped my knife. I never saw it hit the ground.






This story is dedicated to the last, and possibly greatest, battle in the V2 war module's existence as we know it. A special thanks to the Chinese for giving us the opportunity to serve, and to the Serbians for giving us a Hell of a fight.




Written by,
-Jewitt (SPC)
82nd Division, 1st Platoon