NationStates Jolt Archive

'I tell you what, Mr. President. I'd rather be one of them, right now.' said Sheikh Navarrone, gesturing towards a bay window in the bunker in which he was standing. The window was directed towards a rock face, however, as they were thousands of meters underground. Vincent Harling, President of now defunct nation of Chloritia, sat stoically behind his massive oak desk.

Shock Troopers had Secret Servicemen at gun point as Military Police Officers disarmed them and arrested them, for war crimes.

'Mr. President, I have something for you to pour over.' Navarrone removed a sheet of paper from his tactical rig. A wrinkled, blood spattered, sheet of paper...a formal request for the surrender of the Coalition of Vascilian States.

Harling spoke clearly and in a commanding tone, 'We will never surrender to the likes of you.'

Navarrone's face twisted with rage for a moment before regaining his composure. 'Mr. President, with all due respect, shut your fucking mouth and sign this fucking piece of paper before I get upset with you.'

Harling narrowed his eyes at Navarrone. 'The Chloritian Army is victorious, didn't you know that son? Your nation is on fire, our troops are on the way to sweep up the last vestiges of your subhuman nation. This war is over, your little commando raid is just a final act of desperation.'

Navarrone's jaw dropped incredulously, he just couldn't believe what he just heard. The Nuclear war that just took place hours ago was devastating for all sides. The only "nation" left to sign the surrender order was Chloritia, by no means were they the most powerful member of the coalition...they were just the only nation that did not meet full bombardment. President Harling was the only man left in his entire alliance that could legally surrender, and he was out of his fucking mind.

'Constable!' shouted Navarrone. A lanky military policeman stormed up and saluted the Overlord. 'Take this maniac into custody. And find me the Vice President for god sake. This lunatic isn't capable of carrying out the duty.'

Harling grinned at Navarrone. Navarrone glared at Harling. 'You egotistical little shit.' spat Navarrone as the MPs threw Harling into shackles.

----

Vascilia City was cast over by clouds. The entire planet was enveloped by thick, roiling, thunderheads. Strategic weapons had completely boiled off the oceans. Vasciliaa was even more inhospitable than before, if that was imaginable. The only nations that could have possibly survived were obviously the most militaristic, with their heavily armoured cities, or the previously isolated cities located near the poles, populaces sealed arcologies, shielded from the elements. The equatorial regions were completely devastated, nothing could survive for long. Billions of refugees fled North and South as super heated rain began to pour acidic waste on their camps. Dirty snow coated the ground everywhere, turning the once red desert into an white-grey tundra.

Hundreds of millions were killed during the nuclear exchange. Millions were killed in Hammermill as AuBSD Minotaur, crippled in combat, crashed into the city. Ground combat was limited. Entire Armies were wiped out as they mobilized in their bases, on both sides, by nuclear weapons or orbital strikes. As news of the damage to civilian centers came in to the opposing Fleets in orbit, fighting in most places ended quickly as their mission became humanitarian in nature. Most of the servicemen that took part in what would seem to be the final battle for Vascilia supremacy didn't have a home to return to. And so it seemed, Vascilia was broken forever.

And so ended the Cold War. The Vascilian League marginally victorious over the Coalition of Vascilia States and only by technicality. The Aumanii Army numbered, may'be, in the tens of thousands by this point. The population was reduced to a tenth its size. There are no victors, truly, only victims.

Navarrone sat and watched the shattered landscape pass by, silently. Lyboc, now free from command of the Chimera, as she was damaged beyond repair, watched the Overlord. 'You know what they say, don't you Navarrone?' said Lyboc. The two men didn't know each other well before the war, though Navarrone respected Lyboc greatly for his actions at the unveiling of Gorgon and later on in Sculptor. Navarrone swung his head sleepily towards Lyboc and said, 'Can't say that I do, Fleet General.' Lyboc, dead serious as always, responded 'Never let a Scorpion ride on your back.'

Navarrone looked back outside the transport plane, a civilian air liner that was leased by the government as all workable military planes were utilized for the refugee effort.

Fleet General Lyboc was seated in the aisle across from Navarrone, staring intensely at the Overlord. 'It wasn't your fault, Navarrone.' said Lyboc, uncharacteristically consoling the Overlord. 'You agreed to every single one of their demands and what happens? They storm the border anyway. Fucking pukes...' Lyboc was of course referring to the disarmament agreement months previous to the war. The Vascilian League, in an attempt to prevent hostilities, reduced their military presence on the planet by half, this of course was a trick aimed at weakening the Aumanii military before invasion.

Navarrone smiled as he realized Lyboc's previous statement and said 'I remember my mother telling me that story. But she told it with a Fox and a Snake.'

'The point is the same, though, isn't it?' said Lyboc as he was getting comfortable in his seat. 'Yeah, it is.' said Navarrone dejectedly.

----

'Sir, the digger teams have reached the surface.' said a Shock Trooper, filthy from digging. General Polosh stood next to the venerable "Gramps", both men were stripped down to just their fatigues and dripping with sweat. Zhamssassar Fortress took a direct bombardment, over twenty nukes, and survived...however, the air conditioning and filtration systems were less than functional.

Gramps laughed dryly. Polosh cocked an eye at the old man. 'What the hell are you laughing about, Old Timer?' said Polosh in a disapproving tone of voice. 'Fifteen minutes ago we were worrying about suffocating to death. A lot can happen in fifteen minutes.' said Gramps jovially. 'I see what he means, the war only lasted fifteen minutes, too...sir.' said the Shock Trooper. Polosh scowled and ordered the Trooper back to work.

----

'Holy Hell, boss, look at this.' said Jarvin Helgund excitedly. Herg Zarmin, Chief Engineer of the Vascilia City environmental command scrambled up a heap of melted armour plating, his head lamp illuminating the ground before him. 'Look here.' said Jarvin, fallout covering his shoulders as wind blew it in from outside. Herg looked to the floor where Jarvin was pointing and quickly crouched down.

'Wow.' was the only thing he could muster as he read a memorial plaque that had some how survived where an entire section of the City's armour didn't.

'Iron Worker's Memorial. For the work and dedication of dutiful souls.' Zarmin read aloud. 'Jardty Kumon...' Herg scrolled down a list of names. 'Herg Zarmin Senior.' said Herg. 'That's your dad, ain't it Herg?' asked Jarvin. 'Yeah. This is what made me get into this, you know that Jarry?' said Herg, misting up a little as he admired the plaque. 'I'll get a team up here to cut it out.' Said Jarvin, reaching for his radio. 'That's a good idea.'

The monument was dedicated to the Iron Workers of the Environmental Command who lost their lives in the last war after an air strike caused the bridge they were working on to collapse. The bridge was never completed and that section of the city was abandoned for its strategic vulnerability. If you looked outside the massive tear in the armour, you could still see the bridge, half finished and cratered by bomb impacts.

'Look at those kids over there. Playing football. The world's supposed to have ended and these kids are tossing the pigskin.' laughed a young woman, baby saddled on her hip. 'Nations live and nations die, but Football is eternal.' Another woman, child in tow, said. The women laughed. 'And women still gab all fucking day! Even when the world's been blown to pieces women will always find the time...' laughed the first woman's Husband as he walked by, pushing a bin full of garbage. 'Shut up.' she said with a wide smile.

'Yes, dear.' he said, subdued.

Life after the bomb wasn't much different for folks in Vascilia City. Things were much different just across the river, which was now filled with sludge, however.

----

An Old Man walked into a medical tent, bypassing the line outside. A young girl was held in his arms. She was pale, her lips were blue, she was dead...bled out from a gash on her neck.

'Get this man out of here!' commanded a Doctor, massaging a woman's heart with his bare hands. 'My Grand Daughter, she needs help.' the Old Man said, completely ignored by the medical staff who were franticly trying to save this woman's life. A volunteer found time to see the girl. 'She's dead. Stone dead. We can't help her.' said the volunteer. The Old Man, eyes glazed over, stared at the volunteer and said 'You're going to help her.'

'We can't, there's nothing that can be done. Look at her, man.' said the volunteer before turning back to help in the procedure. The volunteer heard the distinctive sound of the hammer being drawn back on a revolver and froze. Eyes wide, the volunteer said 'Don't do it. Don't...'

The Old Man pulled the trigger, the volunteer's face spattering the Doctor and his medical team with gore. 'Oh Shi-' the Doctor screamed before a rounds impacted his chest. The Old Man kept pulling the trigger until the cylinder emptied itself, the hammer clicked fruitlessly.

He left, pistol in one hand, grand daughter held close to his chest, lifeless, with the other.

This was but one scene of desperation being played out across the river from Vascilia City and in many other places across the planet as the reality of the bomb hit hard.

'Look at these people.' said Kris Firth, squad medic, from atop an armoured personnel carrier. A column of Chloritian refugees were shambling south towards the Aumanii border. 'Absolutely no sense of pride what so ever.' Kris lit a cigarette casually, speaking to no one in particular. Bitter thoughts swam in Kris' head. A few of the refugees walked by, looking at his armband, the red cross in particular. A shake of Kris' head told them that they weren't going to find help with him. 'They can rot for all I care.' said Kris harshly before taking a puff of his cigarette. Suddenly a head popped out from the cupola, scanning around hurriedly looking for the Aumanii Medic.

'Take that damn thing off, Jace.' said Kris to the newcomer, Jace, scowling at his light blue beret. 'If you keep wearing that damn occupation cap, they'll start to think we're here to help.' Kris said. Jace took the cap off and tucked it under his body armour and said 'We got orders to move back to Fort Red Rose.'

'Alright then.' said Firth, tossing his smoke at the passing refugees before scrambling into the crew compartment of the APC.