Red Banners, Red Stains

War may conquer new lands, but it is only through peace that those lands can truly be called home.

[Europe is consumed by war once again! Russia, with its population starving and unable to produce basic necessities for itself, invades the mostly-demilitarized European Continental Alliance in a desperate bid for resources. Although Belarus, Ukraine, and Poland fell quickly, American support has arrived and the war seems even. Only time will tell, however, which side will emerge victorious.

China watches on from the sidelines. Although its factories are already churning out weapons and equipment to support the American war effort, the military is hesitant to join in. A certain ceremonial unit however, the Red Guard, does not lie idle. It will do what it must to protect China, even if the military lies dormant.

Amidst the chaos, the Global Liberation Army in Africa and South Asia is rapidly gaining supporters. Despite their defeat in Hamburg in 2038, they have mostly recovered and are once again the undisputed rulers of the lawless lands of central Africa. Their leaders observe the situation carefully, plotting and waiting for the moment to finally usurp the imperialist regimes.

No place is left untouched by the war. But in spite of the horrors, a vague hope emerges: this is surely the last war. The new world will rise from its ashes, a phoenix reborn, never to see such tragedy again.

Our subjects, though, likely won't see this world. They have another one to visit.]

Northwest edge of Antarctica, August 6th, 2045. 08:53 AM

A middle-aged, dark-skinned man with a beard rested on an armchair in a small but fancy lounge, his eyes firmly shut. A soldier dressed in the blue camo pattern of the American Navy approached him with a salute.

"Lieutenant Colonel sir, Rear Admiral Rowling has asked for your presence in the bridge in 10 minutes," The soldier's eyes drifted over the Lt. Colonel's left arm- or rather, the space where his left arm would be. "We're nearing the location of our objective, he says."

The Lt. Colonel's eyes gently opened as he gave his reply, "Understood, I'll be there. Dismissed!"

The soldier saluted again and turned around, sneaking a glance at the officer's left side before he left. An empty long, tan sleeve hung loosely from a short stump only slightly extruded from his shoulder. The slightly-shorter-than-average Lt. Colonel was permanently leaning slightly to the left as if to balance himself, even while sitting.

The Lt. Colonel sighed. He supposed he should use his few minutes of free time as they could very well be his last for a few days. Dragging himself out of the comfortable chair, he made his way down a long corridor and up a flight of stairs, passing only a few Navy and Army soldiers on the way who respectfully saluted or nodded at him. He opened the heavy metal door at the top of the stairs and blinked away the blazing morning light reflecting on the white-and-grey landscape outside.

The USS Discord, a huge monster of an aircraft carrier, pride of the USA's Joint Quick Reaction Force, was covered in a white, frost blanket. The Lieutenant carefully strode past the tarmac housing various grounded helicopters and folded fighter jets, where crewmembers were working desperately to clear the apron of ice and snow. After watching them for a moment, he turned back to the small building jutting up from the top deck of the ship, the 'Island', but instead of reentering it he walked down a flight of stairs shadowed by the Island till he reached a tiny deck holding a light anti-aircraft flak cannon. Two men in tan uniforms greeted him with their backs to the sea, smoke rising from the cigarettes in their mouths. The one holding a lighter was tall, with ever-so-slightly longer limbs.

"Heya, Cap'. Everything alright in Officerland?" The soldier offered the Lieutenant a cigarette and a lighter which he took in his hand with a smile.

"Yep, I'm supposed to head to the bridge in a few minutes. We're about to reach the weird science-signal thing... supposedly."

The second soldier on the deck spat out his cigarette and stamped it with his boot, "Finally, I'm freezing my ass off in this godforsaken winterland. I bet the Russians actually get indoor heating; there's not a day that I wake up without a sore throat and runny nose. What about you, Captain?"

The Lieutenant opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by urgent shouting from the above top deck.

"All hands to stations! Unknown aircraft spotted!"

A moment later, the same message repeated from the ship-wide speaker system.

The first soldier grinned. "Let's get you to the bridge, Cap'," he tossed his cigarette over the railing. The Lieutenant dropped the lighter and cigarette on the deck as raced up the stairs to the top deck, past two Navy crewmembers rushing to man the AA cannon. The soldiers shadowed him as closely as possible.

It was chaos on the deck. Ground crew urgently readied a pair of fighter jets waiting on the runway, pilots strapped themselves into helicopter and plane seats, and various crewmembers walked as fast as they could on the icy tarmac with a mix of panic and purpose. The Lieutenant himself shoved through the door to the Island and sprinted down the same corridor he had exited the building from. There were a lot more people here, carrying messages, reports, or just generally trying to make themselves useful. The Lieutenant turned right at the sign marked 'Bridge', revealing a flight of stairs ending in a landing with a large, closed door.

The officer continued up the stairs at a slightly more careful pace, but as he neared the top a loud thud vibrated through the ship, and it swayed to the left. The Lieutenant's foot caught on the step, his left shoulder flailing uselessly as he hit the staircase roughly. His two escorts finally caught up with him and helped him lay up with his back to the wall.

"Woah there, Cap', you don't look too good. Take a mo-" The first soldier began to speak. He was interrupted by the entire wall to the bridge bursting outwards in a huge explosion. And then, black.

Staff Sergeant Henry woke up with a jolt. His body was limp, lying on his left side. Something was on top of him, blocking his breathing, and he reflexively shoved it off before he realised what it was. A torn, bloody sack of meat and bones blocked his view of the beautiful sky exposed above the smoking debris at the top of a staircase. Henry stuffed his fist into his mouth to fight off the wave of nausea, crawling backwards away from the staircase and the remains of his squadmate.

He had to focus. The bridge was clearly completely annihilated; it would be pointless trying to search for survivors there. Henry stood up shakily, taking in his surroundings. He spotted the limp, unconscious form of the Capt- Lieutenant Colonel, lying against the wall opposite the staircase; he must have been tossed there by the explosion. His eyes widened with horror when he took in the huge spray of shrapnel dug into the Lieutenant's right leg, shredding it to a mangled mess, and put two and two together.

The only reason Henry was uninjured was because his squadmate's body had effectively blocked the shrapnel, saving Henry's life. At a price. The Lieutenant had been mostly spared because he was lying down, sheltered by the top stairs. Henry winced at the thought of the Lieutenant having to suffer the rest of his life like this; if they survived, he'd have to make do with only an arm and a leg.

The speaker system crackled to life somehow, "Attention, attention. Field hospital on the top deck apron. Head there immediately if you are severely injured, and help others."

Henry nodded to himself. There was no helping his squadmate now. He leaned down and dumped the Lieutenant's hopefully breathing body over his shoulders and stumbled down the corridor. A trio of medical personnel shoved past him, barely sparing him a glance except to shout, "Take him to the apron!".

The Staff Sergeant sighed in relief as an unknown soldier came to his aid, helping him carry the Lieutenant to what looked more like a hashed-together morgue than a field hospital; medics conducted open surgery and desperately tried to preserve the lives of about two dozen injured soldiers and crewmembers with nothing but a white sheet separating them from the cold, cruel tarmac. After laying down the Lieutenant and making sure a medic saw to him, Henry turned his gaze to the chaos around him.

Five or six huge black dots were approaching just over the horizon, which he assumed were the enemy aircraft. He could see the smoking, torn wreck of a large cargo plane close by on an icy glacier. The anti-aircraft guns dotted around the ship continuously pumped out heavy lead in the general direction of the approaching planes, forcing anyone on the ship to shout if they wanted to make themselves heard. Henry shuddered as his gaze drifted over the small control tower he had just exited; the top two floors where the bridge had been were reduced to smoking rubble, completely annihilated by what Henry assumed had been a heavy shell or perhaps some explosive device planted beforehand.

The Staff Sergeant realised the urgent shouting and footsteps of the crew on the deck had dimmed and he turned around to see most of them with their heads turned in the direction of the incoming planes, eyes wide and shock written over their faces. He himself looked up and was struck by similar shock.

A massive, white missile, larger than a Blackhawk transport helicopter, was careening towards the ship and unbelievable speeds. It was some distance away but approaching fast, and the AA guns seemed to completely miss it despite its size. As Henry watched, the lone American fighter jet in the air attempted to launch rockets at the missile, but they were entirely ineffective. The fighter jet was caught by the missile's thruster's backblast. It shuddered violently, spiraling downwards out of control and leaving a huge, violent splash as it disappeared into the waters.

Henry had no doubt the missile would destroy everything on the ship and perhaps within a three kilometer radius. He looked to the sky one last time, muttered a prayer, and saluted. The sky was awfully beautiful in the Antarctic.

Just as the roar of the missile's thruster threatened to burst his eardrums, everything went white.