ANNUM II
CHAPTER 1
BIM.INT.PERSONAL NOTE_ELIAS WALKER_2.05.23 -> Sector (9.325, 9.7) – Left on transport at 2100, on 2.05.21, arriving in the Northwest region of Sector 8 behind schedule; arrival was set for 0500, but our detachment was re-routed to Taughannock Trench. It seems the most barren of place, from the scan in which I performed and standing sentry in the dimly lit bitterness of the ashen cold air. I was apprehensive to go far from the transport, as we had been diverted and would be pressing to reach the rendezvous point as near the correct time as possible.
The sense we had was that we were leaving the South and entering the Northern Incursion; the most horrific of courses over the UNCIVILIZED, which is of notable saturation in darkness and no tangible life, carried us among the heart of ghostly shattered remains of a time long passed.
We moved efficiently and attained our objective after nightfall to Sector (9.125, 9.3). Here we stopped for the night, organized supplies and set up base camp. I had for my first battlefield dinner ever an L-amine and D-isomer pack prepared up some way with a milled salty grain, which was devoid of any real taste and had a peculiar consistency. I was surprised at how filling it was, as it expanded and warmed my insides. I asked my commander about the mixture, and he said it was called ‘capital grain’ and that, it was an international requisition, provided only to ICCR army personnel.
As my brothers in arms uttered few words in my direction, I found my smattering of French, German and Bengali very useful, indeed, I am not sure how I would get by without it.
Having had some time when in Sector 6, I had visited the ICCR central databank, scouring the archives and meta-data regarding War 4 and the EuGen; I felt that understanding the terrain couldn’t fail to be of some importance in becoming an effective weapon against the enemy of the Republic.
I find that Sector 10 is in the extreme north of the country, lying in wait along the borders of three former city states, Binghamton, Albany, and Rochester, at the core of the War 4 fallout zone; one of the most desolate and least known portions of District 2 and the last remaining remnants of the 27th Century United World Congress (UWC).
I was unable to download any detailed mapping systems of Sector 10 to my BIM, as we have not been long engaged in the region; but I found that Sector 9, the area of heavy insurgency since the time of War 4, has been fully quantified. I shall upload data here, as a personal back up file to retrieve upon an external breach in my Biochemical Interface Management system.
//INT. Upload file/Time Stamp<2.05.23/2215>
pFile = fopen(filepath, "rb");
if (pFile == NULL)
{
printf("ERROR_UPLOAD_FILE");
getchar();
return ERROR_UPLOAD_FILE;
}
printf("UPLOAD_FILE\n");
// obtain file size:
fseek(pFile, 0, SEEK_END);
lSize = ftell(pFile);
rewind(pFile);
// allocate memory to contain the whole file:
content = (char*)malloc(sizeof(char)*lSize);
if (content == NULL)
{
printf("ERROR_MEMORY");
getchar();
return ERROR_UPLOAD_FILE;
}
form-data; name="uploadedfile"; filename="demography<sec9>.hmp"
<Annum 2\_Month 05\_Day 23>
Demography Sector 9
Estimated EuGen Population: 1.43 billion
Incineration Rate: 99.989999%
Estimated ICCR military personnel: 256,000
Area: 46126.25 sq. miles
Topography: 0-208 meters
Estimated Radiation Dose: 12.63 Gy
Air Quality Index(AQI): 731.63
I read that all the answers to defeating the EuGen had been gathered and stowed away in the bowels of Sector 10, as if it were the illusive eye of a formidable storm; if there is even a remote truth to this my first mission will be quite worthy of note. (Mem., Ask Commander Suo on current theories.)
I did not shut my eyes and rest for any lengthy period, though my standard issue cot was more than enough, for I had what I believe to be holographic memory particle disruptions. There was fighting in the distance throughout the night, which may be a contributing factor; or it may have been the bone-dry recycled air, as I had to consume several water pods, and was not quenched. Approaching dawn, I slept and was roused by my BIM regulated Norepinephrine and Acetylcholine serum, which means I must have achieved REM state by then.
I had for breakfast more provisional packs, and a sort of flat bread of ‘capital grain’ which was surprisingly crisp, and spicy smoked meat dipped in broth, a very rare commodity these days, which the others called ‘Fume Et’.
I had little time to eat, as departure was scheduled before 0700, or so I had thought, but after engulfing my meal and fumbling through a poorly executed pack, I waited along side my brethren for more than an hour before we headed out.
It seems to me the further north we go the more treacherous it becomes. What glory or horrors await our arrival?
The larger portion of the day we trudged through the relics of a country I imagine was once vibrant and flourishing with life of every kind. Crumbling stone and contorted metal debris lay at the feet of skeletal ruins ascending in a serrated line through the sky; bridges rolling over desiccated riverbeds, whose rivers would have rushed wildly over the landscape, had widened stone perimeters to prevent flooding which were no longer useful. Everything was now darkened and covered in ash and death. There was nothing left standing in the wake of the EuGen.
At every checkpoint there were brigades of ICCR soldiers, sometimes whole divisions, all varying in department and rank. Some of them were just like us or those I saw coming through recruitment in Sector 5 or Sector 6, with the standard issue bio-chem flak jacket, nanotech helmet with holographic optical interface, and electro-chem body armor; but there were others.
The mercenaries looked like men, except when you drew closer to them, which revealed that they had become more likened to machines. They all had weaponized robotic arms of some kind or other, and most of them had EMP and plasma blasters hanging from shoulder holsters on either side of their bodies that lay hidden under slim fitting deionization coats.
The most unnerving forms we saw were the Clerics, who were more ethereal than the rest, with their hooded cloaks, thin veil coverings just below their eyes, off-white linen attire, and braided corium leather belts, nearly a half a foot wide, snapped together with studded silver. They wore low shoes, with their pants hovering just above their ankles, and had long silver hair and grey toned skin. They are very statuesque, but do not appear rigid. On the battlefield they would be explained away as some ancient god or a ghostly apparition. They are; however, I am told, very much a threat and considerably efficient in hand to hand combat.
It was in the waning hours of the evening when we reached Sector (9.325, 9.7), which was no less dismal than any other checkpoint previous. Being practically on the front line of the Northern Incursion, it has had several attacks upon its walls, and it certainly is lacking in no sign of it. Five years ago, a series of dirty bomb attacks took place, which wreaked havoc on ammunition and supply distribution. At the very end of Annum 1 it underwent a siege of four months and lost 25,000 platoons, the casualties of war aided by depletion of stable O2 resources and starvation.
Commander Suo directed me to go to barracks N-9, which I found, after slugging through a quarter mile of muddy terrain, thoroughly rusted on its outer hull and more exposed to the elements than I had hoped.
I was clearly expected, for when I arrived upon the door I was met by a cagy-looking timeworn man in a high-ranking ICCR uniform- black nanotech woven fiber with advanced shielding capabilities, which, I saw, was protecting bionic optical inserts connected to an evolved BIM. When I approached, he softened and said, ‘Walker?’
‘Yes sir,’ I said, ‘Elias Walker, sir!’
He smirked and nodded in the direction of a young cadet in camo short sleeves, who had stood quietly just beyond the door.
With a curt nod, he went but returned at once with an integrated BIM nanite injector. The cadet pressed it firmly at the base of my skull, and without hesitation, pulled the trigger.
‘Your bunk is E116,’ he said, ‘And, your external upload is time stamped for 0100.’
I had never imagined as a child that I would fulfill such a destiny. Time for some shut eye!
//EXT. Upload files/Time Stamp<2.05.25/0100>
pFile = fopen(filepath, "rb");
if (pFile == NULL)
{
printf("ERROR_UPLOAD_FILE");
getnano();
return ERROR_UPLOAD_FILE;
}
printf("UPLOAD_FILE\n");
// obtain file size:
fseek(pFile, 0, SEEK_END);
lSize = ftell(pFile);
rewind(pFile);
// allocate memory to contain the whole file:
content = (nano*)malloc(sizeof(nano)*lSize);
if (content == NULL)
{
printf("ERROR_MEMORY");
getnano();
return ERROR_UPLOAD_FILE;
}
form-data; name="uploadedfile"; filename="EuGen<sec10>.hmp
<Error>13615
<Error>13615
<HMPD>Holo_Part_Mem_Disrpt
}
form-data; engage="holographicopticalcontrols";
Water seeps down the walls of the damp stone enclosure. The tapping of the rain covers undiscernible voices coming from the shadowed corners. A small figure, a child, with sallow skin and sunken emerald eyes. Someone familiar.
‘Help us.’
Again, the voice comes. No longer from a frail child, rather a stoic woman.
‘Help us, Elias.’
“Mother!”
A flash and her projection fades to darkness.
BIM.INT.PERSONAL NOTE_ELIAS WALKER_2.05.25 -> Sector (9.325, 9.7) – I found that my commanding officer, Captain Hughes, had received orders from Commander Suo, directing him to secure the western perimeter of Sector (9.325, 10.125); but as others asked for details, he remained quite reticent, and had preserved all chatter behind closed doors with other ranking officials.
This had to be true, for up to this point he had been more on edge than what had seemed normal; at least, what I had deemed normal for him.
He and his cadet, the young guy who logged me in, walked to the edge of our bunk row and stared upon us in a determined sort of way. He mumbled out that the orders had come down from the Elders, and that we should prepare ourselves. When I asked him if he knew our objective, and could tell us anything about the sector, both he and his cadet obstructed themselves, and, stating that they knew nothing more, proudly refused to comment further. It was so near the time of take-off, that I had no time to form any solid theories, for it was all very circumspect and not by any means reassuring.
Just as I was finishing my pack, the young cadet came hastily up to my bunk and said in a nervous and hushed tone: ‘Do you know who you are? Elias! Do you?’ He was in such an agitated state that he seemed to have lost his grip of what reality he knew, and scrambled it all up with information he could not know at all. I was just able to follow his cryptic behavior and asked few questions. When I stood and told him that I must go at once, he grasped my arm firmly and asked again:
‘Do you know who you are?’ I answered that I was Elias Walker. He pulled me closer as he said again:
‘Yes, yes that is true! But do you know WHO you are?’
Shaking my head slightly and saying that I did not understand, he went on:
‘ We are approaching the eve of something great; The Awakening! Do you not know why you wake at night, when all others sleep? Do you understand where you are heading, and what you are heading to?’ He was in such a fit that I tried to calm him, but to no avail. Finally, he dropped to his knees and pulled me back to a sitting position at the end of my cot.
It was all very erratic and was making me uneasy. However, there is a war to be won, and could not allow anything to interfere with my duty to the Republic.
I tried to lure him up, and said, as solemnly as I could, that I believed him, but my assignment was essential, and that I must go.
He pulled himself up and calmed his eyes and taking a small containment unit from his pocket extended it to me.
I was at a loss for words. I have been trained to recognize and report such behavior, but it seemed overly reactionary on my part to ruin the young cadet’s career over a fit of the mind.
He could feel my apprehension, I suppose, because he hastily put the containment unit into the breast pocket of my shirt and said, ‘For your mother,’ and headed out of the barracks.
I am keeping quick record of this as I wait for transport, which is late as usual; and the containment unit is still in my pocket.
Whether it is the young cadet’s weird behavior, or the bareness of the terrain, or what lies in my pocket, I am not wholly sure, but I am not feeling nearly as confident or sound in mind as when I had left.
I pray to the Elders that this record never reaches the Congressional Records Master, as it would certainly end my career. The transport, finally!
BIM.INT.PERSONAL NOTE_ELIAS WALKER_2.05.25 -> Sector (9.325, 10.125) – It is the twenty-fifth day and the fifth month of the second annum. The fog of the a.m. hours has lifted a little, and the sun is towering over the faint skyline, which seems drastically uneven, whether rubble remains or natural topography I am not sure, as it is so far off in the distance that it is merely an impression.
When I got on the transport, Captain Hughes had not taken his position in the front, and I saw him talking to the young cadet.
I assume they were talking about me, for in those moments I clearly spotted them looking in my direction. The others on the transport seemed not to notice as they uttered softly to one another. I have a limited vocabulary in some of the languages spoken, nevertheless, I was able to make out a few words, as they had been repeated several times.
I must admit they were not uplifting to me, for among them were ‘mörder’ – killers, ‘mon niyantran’ – mind control, ‘démons’ and ‘demoni’ – both mean the same thing, one being French and the other Croatian for demons. In this, our latest stage of civilization, I am captivated by those who still cling to superstition.
When we were finally underway, several others stationed at the encampment gathered along the roadway heading towards the northern gate, all with their heads bowed and their fists to their chest.
After some prodding, I got this guy named Thompson to tell me what it meant. He wouldn’t answer at first, but once he had learned I was new to the unit, he spat his tobacco to the floor and blurted out the side of his mouth that it was an honor prayer for sacrifice.
This was more than disturbing to me, just starting for an unknown location in a highly volatile warzone. But everyone seemed so unphased, and so confident that we would be victorious that I wondered if the young cadet had shaken me more than I’d like to admit.
I’ll never forget the last glimpse I had of the fortified checkpoint and the sea of toy soldiers, unwavering in their footholds, as they stood beyond the boundary, with its backdrop of makeshift metal housing and small fires dotting the landscape which seemed to own the last flicker of life left within its walls.
Then our pilot, whose name I believe was Collins, completed his final systems check and fired the protogel fuel cells, which rumbled quietly beneath our feet, and we set out.
I never lost sight or memory of those haunting words in the bitterness of the view as we pounded along, although had I understood the languages, which my fellow brethren were speaking, I might have been able to shake them off more easily. Before us rest a black tattered earth full of caustic waterways and unbreathable air, with the occasional cropping of ascents, shrouded with mass burial sites or with defenseless strongholds. There was everywhere a disorienting collection of bodies and stone. And as we drove by, I could see the scorched expressions, frozen, under the cinders and scattered among the remains. Weaving among the debris of what they call here ‘Dafan’ ran the highway, defeating itself as it crept up the hillsides, or was caught up beneath the towering piles of shrapnel, which now stand as an effigy mound for those who bore witness. The road was scarred, but still we seemed to devour it with quick measure, as the pilot was evidently bent on losing no time in reaching our destination. I was told that this road was the quickest route, but it had not been used in months. Several coordinated attacks by EuGen insurgents riddled the area until our forces were able to push them back northward.
Beyond the chiseled hills of the Dafan plunged a vast slope down into the unstable vestiges of the War 4 fallout zone itself. Right and left of us the city ruins loomed, with the late hour sun grazing upon them and bringing out a hint of their former glory, deep purple and blue in the traces of remaining glass, brown and green where bronze and copper blended, and an endless proportion of brick laden crags and jagged stonework, till these were themselves lost in the expanse, where the white spires rose commandingly to the clouds. As the sun sank lower and lower behind us, and the shadows began to close in, the evening brought with it a chill. This was emphasized by the fact that snow had begun falling rapidly and seemed to slow our trek after some due consideration. One of my sister-guards touched my arm as we crowned the pitch of the road and revealed the noble, snow-covered peaks of the UWC capitol , which seemed, as we turned our gaze, to be right before us.
‘There! Das Volksfeind!’ – ‘The Enemy of the People!’ – as she edged herself openly.
As we wore onward, and the dark settled completely, the razor-sharp edges of the landscape dissolved and gave way to ghostly suggestion. Here and there was a storefront or theater standing as a shrine, untouched by time or war, which seemed to have little interest in the outside world. As they slipped back into the distance, I felt an unexpected shudder, and an ominous feeling come over me. This state of tension kept on for some time. And at last we reached the edge of the city opening out on the northern side. There were severe, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the riotous, crashing sound of thunder. Each moment I expected to see the glare of lightning through the blackness, but all was dark. The only light was the ceaseless rays of our transport lamps, in which the soot ridden air hovered in a lifeless cloud. We could now see the petrified road lying grey before us, but there was on it no sign or direction. The road grew more level, and we appeared to fly along. Then the hills seemed to come nearer to us on either side to lay judgment down upon us. We were entering on the ‘Crocifisso’ – ‘Crucified’. By the roadside were several heavily built crosses, and as we swept by, the young sister-guard crossed herself once more. Then turning to me, she spoke in a blended German-English dialect better than my own.
‘If you were found guilty, it began with the scourging. A legionnaire would tear the clothing from your back, bind your hands and tie them to a post above your head. Then they would grab a flagrum; a short leather whip with several thongs adorned with lead balls at the ends, and come down across your shoulders, back and legs. The thongs would cut through the skin at first, but after repeated blows, the blood would gush, and the ground would receive your penance. And only when you were nearing death, and the skin of your back would hang in long ribbons, would they stop the beating. Naked and bare, you carried your cross from the flogging post to the site of your crucifixion outside the city walls. Course rope was loosely strapped around your weary arms on either side of the crossbeam, and hot metal spikes were driven through your wrists, splintering the wood with each deafening blow. Then, raising you upright, you were left exposed for the insects to burrow into your open wounds and the vultures to pick at your bones.’
I think I must have fallen asleep, for it seemed to me that we were going over and over the same ground, and I was curious to know the time. I pressed the indicator tab on the side of my watch, and by its light noticed it was just shy of midnight. This was a shock of sorts, but I quickly recovered. And with that, I suddenly realized that Collins was pulling the transport through a large and formidable gate, whose sizeable entrance was only dwarfed by the rockface surrounding it.
https://ift.tt/eA8V8J Submitted May 04, 2019 at 03:02AM by Oikumene http://bit.ly/2H17jEw
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