Lucius D. Clay Kaserne
Garlstedt, Germany
"Monday I want everyone in the motor pool. We need to make sure the tracks are at a 100%. We are heading to Bergen-Hohne in two weeks," Captain Stewart addressed the assembled Executive Officer, first sergeant, platoon leaders, and platoon sergeants in his office on a Friday afternoon. B Company, was one of four line companies in 3rd Battalion 41st Infantry (Mechanized) in the 2nd Armor Division (Forward) or 3rd Brigade assigned to the German Kaserne in Northern Germany. The Brigade was planning to travel to Bergen-Hohne training area in the southern part of the Lüneburg Heath, in the state of Lower Saxony. This is a NATO base used for training by the Federal Republic of Germany, the British Army, the Dutch Army, the French Army and the Americans of the 2nd AD (FWD).

"As you all know, we will initially act as OPFOR for the Dutch 41st Armor Brigade, German 32nd Panzergrenadier Brigade and the British 22nd Armor Brigade. Then three weeks into the rotation, we move to BLUFOR and the Germans assume the role of OPFOR. I want all our equipment squared away. Use this time to take care of business." OPFOR is the acronym used for Opposing Forces and BLUFOR represents Friendly forces. Often times, units act as OPFOR for one another during Force on Force training in order to provide realism to the training. The units plan to use the Multiple Integrated Laser Engagement System (MILES) in order to determine hits and misses during training. MILES works two-fold; first, each soldier wears a harness with several receptacles on the torso and helmet and each vehicle mounts side straps with receptacles attached. An onboard computer determines what type of weapon fires at it and informs the crew if their vehicle is disabled. There is a yellow light attached to the top of the vehicle which flashes if the vehicle is disabled or destroyed. The crew, if they perish, remains with the vehicle until an Observer/Controller (O/C) has cleared them to move back toward friendly lines. The other aspect of MILES, is a laser transmitter is attached to the barrel or muzzle of a weapon system and transmits a laser beam every time a high intensity noise passes it. The loud noise is generated by blank cartridge for rifles and machine guns and a special Hoffman tank gunfire simulator for tank main guns. Blank cartridges and Hoffman simulators create the sound emitted by the weapon system and trigger the laser for the MILES transmitter. The Observer/Controllers are either battalion or brigade primary and special staff officers and NCOs.

Captain Stewart went on to discuss Non-Commissioned Officer Evaluation Reports (NCO-ERs) that were due to Battalion as soon as possible (ASAP) and briefly touched on a planned training meeting coming up next week to discuss the next training cycle. When the meeting was over, the assembled officers and NCOs, stood, rendered a hand salute to the "Old Man" and left the room.

"First Sergeant?" Captain Stewart called to his Company First Sergeant. At 29 years old, Captain Stewart was referred to as the Old Man an American expression for a unit commander dating back to the 18th or 19th century. The US Army in steeped in tradition.

"Yes, sir," First Sergeant Marsh clicked his heels, simulating coming to the position of attention. Something he did not have to do, but did anyway. At 35 years old, First Sergeant Marsh was the oldest man in the Company, the senior NCO, who actually ran the company. The Old Man simply got the credit for everything his NCO corps did and the blame for what they failed to do.

"First Sergeant, have you spoken with Sergeant Carlson yet?"

"Sir, I intend to speak to him in the next thirty minutes," the first sergeant responded. They were talking about an NCO who they recently discovered, received a positive report on a recent random Urinalysis test. The US Army implemented a random drug search and urinalysis system to help stop the drug problem plaguing many of the American Army units stationed in Germany in 1983. Drug sniffing dogs, guided by Military Police Officers conducted random searches of the soldiers' barracks while they slept. The dogs sniffed wall lockers, looking for drugs and the Drug Control Officer, first lieutenant Cole would administer a urinalysis test at random times throughout the year. Sergeant Carlson received a positive result. The problem with this, the Army's policy on an NCO receiving a positive report meant he was immediately separated from service and would receive a less than honorable discharge, which could be upgraded to Honorable six months after discharge if the soldier wished to do so. For lower enlisted soldiers, they were counseled, received an Article 15 and given time to rehabilitate themselves. An Article 15 is a non-judicial punishment including the loss of one month's pay and loss of one pay grade. If a soldier failed an additional urinalysis, they would then be separated from the Army.

"Thanks, top. Keep me informed," The CO stated and then the first sergeant went to his office.

Three Days Later...
"Did you hit all those lube points?" Staff Sergeant Beaudoin asked, referring to the lubrication points on the M113 Armored Personnel Carrier the soldiers of his Section would need to push grease into with a grease gun.

"Yes, Staff Sergeant," Specialist Mark Rose of Biloxi, Mississippi answered. "We was going to break some track and replaced those worn pads."

"OK, Rose. Why don't you let those other fud puckers do that, you come with me." Specialist Rose fell in with Staff Sergeant Beaudoin and headed off to speak with the Lieutenant.

After they left, Private First Class Antoin Thomas of Baltimore, Maryland asked the other soldiers of his team, "Did you hear what happened to Sergeant Carlson?"

"No man, what that niggah do now?" Private Felton, an African American from Atlanta, Georgia asked.

"He popped hot on a piss test. He's gone, bro."

"Straight up?"

"Word."

"Shit. That's some fucked up shit, man."

"You tellin' me." The two African American soldiers along with the other three soldiers worked on replacing track pads on their M113, bumper # B-13. They were member of Staff Sergeant Robert Beaudoin's 1st Team, 2nd Section.

Meanwhile,
"Specialist Rose, you are going to be TC on the Lieutenant's fifty when he dismounts." The section sergeant referred to the position of Track Commander and the fifty caliber machine gun mounted on the track.

"What happened to Sergeant Carlson?"

"Consider him ETS'd," the section sergeant responded.

"I hear he popped hot on a piss test."

The Staff Sergeant looked at Specialist Rose with a smile, "See, you're smarter than you look, Corporal."

John Rose didn't pick up on the word, Corporal right away and asked, "Why did the Lieutenant pick me?"

"Three reasons, you keep your nose clean, you just re-enlisted for another three years and he trusts you," Staff Sergeant Beaudoin told it straight to the 21 year old infantryman.

"Wait, Corporal!?" John Rose finally picked up on the section sergeant calling him by the new rank.

Amsterdam, Summer of 1982
What a pile of paper it was. Five years ago, Hendrik received the call-up. Just coming out of the paper mountain of getting into university, he now had to fill even more forms. Phone calls, bureaucracy, and a painful hand are the necessary sacrifices for getting into university, and the exemption from conscription for the next four years. But four years later, Hendrik was finished with university, a Doctor of Law, and had no excuse to stay out of service. “Wat mot, dat mot.” Hendrik said, giving his mother a hug. Mrs. Maarschalkerweerd was proud of her son, but at the same time sad to see him leave. “Kijk goed uit, jongen. Het is een linke boel in Duitsland.” After he let her go, Hendrik’s father gave him a pat on the back. “Maak er het beste van, jongen, maar beloof me dat je schrijft. Toen ik d’r was had je rare pannelappen, je moet wel zeggen of dat veranderd is.” “Doe ik, pa. Maar ik ben laat!”, Hendrik said as he collected his bike keys. He quickly went to get his bike and went off on the bike ride. Down the Prinsengracht, to the Sarphatistraat, and down to the zoo. Opposite of that there was a large building, and there were the barracks. Upon turning right onto the sidewalk, a car nearly hit Hendrik, prompting him to ask the driver if he had a surplus chromosome. Arriving on the sidewalk intact, he chained his bike to a street light and entered the barracks.

It was still early in the morning when Hendrik’s medical inspection was due. Considering the nature of this inspection and the partially-personal questionnaire, a doctor who wasn’t interested in feminine beauty had landed a good job. And later the “Idiot test” was due. It was obvious why it was called that, since a kindergartener would be bored there. “What number is missing from the sequence 1 – 3 – 5 – 9?”. When it all ended, Hendrik was glad it was a one-time thing. Two weeks later the result was in right after the match: After the General Military Skills training, he would be in his favoured position: Tank gunner! A few weeks later, it was time. Spectacles, testicles, watch and wallet. It was getting colder rapidly, so he brought his Ajax Amsterdam scarf with him. Training was harsh in this weather, but nothing a man couldn’t handle. GMS training was done with no extraordinary effort, and the armour training went well too. After completing both, he was shipped off to Seedorf, West Germany, to serve with the 41st Armoured Batallion.

Rotterdam, Summer of 1982
In a Rotterdam-Zuid flat building, a very different situation was developing. Looking for something to eat, Thomas was rather disgruntled not to find any. Deciding to act like a man of eightteen years, he put on a tracksuit and trainers, grabbed a tenner and keys, and went out of the door where he ran into his father.

“Waar ga je, Tom?”
“Open ruggetje halen. Hoezo?”
“Pak wat uit de koelkast, man!”
“Zit een echo in.”
“Niet zo Gronings, wat ben je aan het sjouwen?”
“Ik gaat knagen, niet naar de rooie gordijnen.”
“Nou, skwibus dan.”
Tom went on his way and his father inside. Upon finding an array of letters on the doormat, he angrily shouted after him, but he didn’t care. He went to eat and when he came back, he found his father sitting in his chair, with his mother and sisters next to him. “Je gaat in dienst.”, his father said, followed by Tom’s oldest sister immediately bursting in to call dibs on his room. “Heb ik ‘Koor invallen’ geroepen, zijkwijf?!”, Tom shouted back as he turned to his father. “Ik hebt nog liever dat een paard me schopt! Ik heb toch niets te zoeken bij de Bokkeslingers?”. This outburst wasn’t received well by his father. “Kijk me aan, eikel. Jij gaat naar die keuring, daar kom jij langs, en jij gaat in dienst. Als jij het vergalt, dan sla ik je door het huis heen. Heb je dat begrepen?!” The counter-outburst scared him. For a moment. When the big day arrived, Tom had not eaten properly for a month and got a mate of him so far to supply him a sheep to bring there. Looking pale, weak, stumbling and walking a sheep over to the Van Ghentkazerne. It didn’t work, as it was blatantly obvious het ried to get out from under it. Finally accepting his fate, he returned the sheep, ate, and did his training well and ended up as the loader of a tank.

Basepohl, East Germany, Summer of 1983
But the most different life of all was Wolfgang. Unlike the other two, who were relatively affluent and apolitical at best, he was born poor, which made him a devoted socialist. His ideology gave him quick access to the biggest booster for job applications in the GDR: membership in the SED. Following politics, he also pursued his dream of flying by joining the Luftstreitkräfte der NVA at an early age as a volunteer, instead of waiting for the call to arms. The ideological basis was a sound one for him to develop his skills on as an air force volunteer, and he was quick to gain access to the Mi-24D with the finest pilots in the LSK in the Adolf von Lützow squadron.. His parents were proud, the neighbourhood was proud, the party was proud, and Wolfgang himself was proud too. The Hind was a beast of a helicopter, and this modernised version would do well to protect the power of the workers and peasants!

Seedorf barracks, November 10th of 1983
The sphere in the basement was great. Officially a bomb shelter, it was used as a snackbar. It was normally filled to the brim with the soldiers eating deep-fried snacks, pizzas, and drinking dirt-cheap beer. But this was not the case this evening, as tomorrow a training was scheduled. At 0230 the brigade was expected to rise and shine before rushing to Bergen-Hohne. While most went to bed on time, Thomas had the brilliant idea to eat and drink just before going to bed. While it suited him, Hendrik wasn’t as thrilled with this and angrily stormed down. “Zeg kluiveduiker, we moeten morgen om half drie op zijn!”

“Neem een pilletje, trekgeit.”
“’Neem een pilletje’?! We motten godverdomme morgen vroeg op, en jij zit hier met een berenlul en een lel bier! Meekomme, pannelap!”
“Moet je d’r een op je broodmolen, NSB’er?!”
“Maak die slaapmuts af en kom kofferen, da’s alles. We moeten morgen in Bergen-Hohne wezen.”
“Bergen-Hohne? Daar is Anne Frank toch ’t hoekie om gegaan?”
“Kom nou gewoon op tijd.”
“Ja hoor, Pisvlek.”, Thomas said as he finished his beer, ate his Kroket, and walked over the courtyard to the sleeping quarters. In a last attempt to annoy Hendrik, he shouted “Hand in Hand, Kameraden!”, the club song of Feyenoord, before he entered the barracks. A string of insults later, the two went to sleep, with Hendrik looking forward more eagerly to the training than Thomas.

HQ Sennelager, Tank Hangar, August 1983

"So, Lampart? What do you think of our future new commander?"

Norman Lampart sat on the front armour of a certain Mk.11 Chieftain shifting his view towards Lloyd Carter who was busy restocking the ammo containers of the tank.
"I like her, to be honest. At least from what I've heard. I know you don't like how she works, but I respect her deeply"
Carter laughed. "You know, I got a problem with the fact that she's a woman and Japanese, too. Also, you don't have to sit next to her"
This made Lampart stand up and laugh.
"What? Does she smell or what?"
Quickly Carter corrected himself. "No, no, not at all, at least I hope so. I just feel a little uncomfortable around someone like her, you know? Did you know that she kicked out her previous crew, because she found them irresistibly incompetent and then she requested replacement from HQ?"
Lampart tapped his chin.
"So that's why we got assigned here all of the sudden, eh? I wonder how much leverage that girl has"
"She's bloody scary, I tell you"

Right at that moment a short, lean, asian woman looking younger than she actually is with blue-dyed hair swirled around the corner and entered the tank hangar.
"Carter? Lampart?", she asked with a rough, stern, but energetic and steady voice, which really suited how she appeared in that tank hangar.
"Yes? I'm Lampart", he replied with a questioning look.
"I'm Hikaru Akira, good to meet you" She smiled a bit.
"I sincerely hope you two are as good as I heard you are"
Carter was visibly shaken, however, Lampart actually took her outstretched hand to shake it.
"I am sure we will work together perfectly. You are actually different than I imagined, Ms. Akira, ma'am"
She tilted her head.
"Oh? You probably thought of me as a strict militaristic person who knows no fun and works like a machine? Yeah, I get that a lot. In times of duty, I do get very, very serious, so, there's a warning for you. Don't mess around when in action, understand? I am fully open for ideas other than mine, but never ever fool around when seriousness is the order of the day"
Lampart and even Carter saluted.
"Understood, ma'am!"
"If I may be allowed one question?", Lampart continued.
Akira nodded. "You can ask questions at any time"
"Who's gonna be our gunner? We are still understaffed"
"Don't worry, she'll arrive in a few minutes"
A loud groaning could be heard from Carter as he mumbled a "Another woman, great... welcome to the pussy army...", however it was loud enough for both Lampart and Akira to hear that remark.
A very stern look from Akira was enough to make him sorry he ever uttered this as another woman entered the hangar. This time, a red-head, most certainly from Scotland, as tall as the both of the men. "Private Hailey Marrow, reporting for duty, ma'am!"
Akira saluted back.
"Welcome, Marrow. So you are the famous Red Shot, the guys at Glasgow seem to never stop talking about?"
"Apparently, ma'am!"
She was still stiff as a brick standing in the entrance with head hand at her head.
"Right, right. Relax, Marrow. I'm not that much higher and as long as we don't need it, over-complicating our relationship here with ranks.
Remember, guys. This is one thing I /want/ you to hammer into your head.
We are a team. We can't operate this machine all alone. We have to depend on the other. Especially me as the commander. I have to be absolutely sure, my crew does what I tell them and does the tasks to the best of their abilities. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, Akira, ma'am!", came the unanimous response. Akira nodded and turned around to begin walking back to the entrance, but then she stopped.
"Oh, and, by the way... call me Hikaru", she shrugged and swirled around on her heels.
"First task of the day, up up and to the bar. We'll have to get to know each other, don't you think?"
...

Officer’s Mess, Tofrek Barracks East, Hildesheim

November 10th, 1983

Jon was sat on his own in the mess bar. His sky-blue beret was on the table in front of him, and a steaming mug of very black coffee was next to it. He was wearing a DPM flight jacket over his flightsuit in a bid to keep out some of the chill; although in some ways he was used to it. Winter in Germany seemed a lot less severe compared to winter in the Falklands, after all. It was also a lot less boring; at least sitting around in Stanley there was still the sense that the Argies might be coming back over the horizon at any moment.

In Saxony, however, there wasn’t as much tension. The Russians had been quiet and the NVA just sat at the border glaring from atop rusting tanks.

With a heavy sigh, Jon drained his coffee, picked up his beret and straightened the belt his Browning was holstered on as he stood up and looked out towards the flightline.

Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, East-West Border, Hagenow, Summer 1983

Gustav von Roth stared out over the large expanse of land he had grown used to seeing in his decade in service - he was in fact approaching his fifteenth year now, and the situation had never been so tense. The way the officers carried themselves, the feverish need to ensure that the men were constantly ready for action - even more so than usual. It was rather exciting. But he could not deny the unspeakably heavy feeling in his chest, as if at any moment now he would hear the sounds of men on the march and the barrage of bullets which would either send him to his grave or do so sooner rather than later. War was inevitable. He knew that. He could see it in the way everyone moved, the sweating officers, the dry-lipped recruits, his own heart which would not stop beating.

He stared out over the one kilometre wide border, committing it to memory for the thousandth time. Soon - and he knew that for certain - he would be marching across this very border, and there were men - and indeed, women, for he had heard that in the west they allowed women in the army too. An awfully communist thing to do, to allow the brave revolutionary women to fight. But whether it was true or not, he would soon know.

"Regiment! Action Right!" the voice of the commanding officer reached him and he felt himself, almost subconsciously, move with the rest of the patrol, turning right and continuing along the border, going back to base at Hagenow. Who knew, perhaps tonight would be the last night spent in the headquarters, perhaps tomorrow they would be sleeping on unwelcoming foreign earth with no comfort but the dreadful silence between one barrage of fire and the next, or the relief between the landing of one rocket and the next, hoping that it would land anywhere, anywhere, but near you.

Though the fresher recruits were terrified of the commanding officers, Gustav's relationship with them was rather peculiar. He wouldn't have said that there was an easy friendship between him and most of the commanders, but there was definitely a certain degree of informality between them, seeing as most of them had either been recruits with him or had joined later and been under his wing for a while. He had never seen himself as the leader and had avoided promotion like the plague. But who knew, perhaps if the promised war started, he would not be able to avoid it much longer. As they slowly made it back to base, he could not help but notice the grim-faced young medic - nineteen or twenty at the most - who was marching beside him. He remembered having a brief conversation with the brown-haired lad before, but could not remember what his name was.

It wasn't long before they were back in the relative safety of Hagenow, and they were relieved for the night.

The military. It was Daniel's home now, even if he wasn't ready to fully accept it. As he marched along with his comrades the beat of their footsteps was like music to his ears nonetheless. It was that and that alone that had managed to keep him in tune. That sort of thing was certainly crucial too while under the damning glare of his superiors. Any one of them could call him out at any minute for an extra set of disciplinary measures and that was something the nineteen year old recruit wanted to avoid. Of course he was surprised it hadn't been done already as nobody really took him for the military type, not even himself. The military focused on taking lives while Daniel's focus was on saving lives. It was almost hilariously ironic how fate had its way with the boy. Still, he was here and intended to make the most of it.

At base. It was the most desirable place for a fresh recruit to be, but Daniel could only suspect it would be short lived. Recent events would have their way with him soon enough. According to various sources the NATO forces were zooming in quickly and naturally the entire Warsaw Pact was not going to allow that to happen. Just another pawn in this international power struggle was what Daniel had been reduced to, yet he was resilient. He knew that if he was going to be sent into battle that he would at least make it memorable. Fortunately for him he had managed to secure a position as squad medic, a position fitting for somebody with such strong aspirations to save lives rather than take them away. It was just one way in which the boy's mother had managed to leave her mark for she too was well known for her endeavours in the medical field.

"Why would the NVA want me? I would rather be a doctor. I don't care if this is only temporary." Daniel very well remembered the puzzled expression that had come over his face upon realizing he too was about to be recruited. It was mandatory, after all, but he had hoped that maybe exceptions would be made for aspiring doctors. Apparently that wasn't the case so instead the boy found himself packing up and leaving his Leipzig home for something that could potentially change him. Or end his life. That was a fate the boy didn't yet want to swallow, however.

Some hope for the military life briefly got restored in Daniel as he found himself being promoted. It was rare for such fresh recruits to be promoted so quickly, but nonetheless it had happened to Daniel. He remembered well the words of his commanding officer: "Congratulations, Heigemeir. You have done a service to both the country and the people. Keep it up and soon you will be an officer." The officer had spoken as he handed over Daniel's fresh new badge. Gefreiter. He was officially one rank above those who had been recruited along with him and something about it almost seemed...addicting. He knew he had to keep going and potentially surpass the rest of them for as long as he was part of this division. With upcoming war he somehow knew the opportunity would slam directly into him, taking grasp of every part of his body.

War. It certainly had its way of rearing its ugly face up on everybody and Daniel was no exception. He knew that soon his entire division would be sent out to the front lines where rows upon rows of enemy gunfire would be waiting to pierce their flesh, all in the name of an ideological chess game. Fortunately for him though he knew he wasn't alone and had his comrades by his side. The officer by the name of Von Roth seemed to be particularly intrigued by the young Daniel. Perhaps he saw potential in him where so many others did as well? It was promising, but Daniel also feared that he couldn't meet expectations. Rarely anybody did at anything. Still, he would monitor the man and perhaps even attempt to befriend him, given the opportunity. Friends were bound to be especially valuable on the battlefield.

Almere, Summer of 1982

Up in Almere, things were happening. None of which are of any concern or particularly unique; especially not the things happening to the Chocola family. These totally not important things were happening at the Almere police department; one of the family members listening to the name of ''Quintis'' was doing his utmost to talk one of his family members out of jail. As he always did. Again, the cop told him he should become a lawyer; again, he told the cop that's not really his groove. Just a normal day in Almere.
On his way home,

Quintis came across a military recruiting station. His first thought was ''Bestaan deze dingen hier?'' That's Dutch for ''Do these things exist?'' His second thought was that... Maybe he should try helping people in a different way than watering their flowers and talking them out of jail.

Maybe he should join the army.

Seedorf barracks, November 10th of 1983

For David, there was no fancy flashback. He lived in the present and future, not the past; the past happened, no sense in thinking about that. All of this was for the future; even if his future wasn't exactly the new gold dream he had imagined for himself.
These were his exact thoughts, translated to English for convenience. David was a dreamer, even while emptying his tank's storage boxes to make room for his beloved four-stringed rhythm instruments known as bass guitars. He wasn't particularly inclined towards socialising with his fellow military men, for one simple reason: football club songs hurt his sensitive musical soul.

He took a short break, sitting down atop the tank's turret. His sunken in eyes peered out into this new world; behind those eyes was a whirlpool of information and song lyrics. The information mostly consisted of the specs of his new ride, and the song lyrics were the words to Simple Minds' ''New Gold Dream''. He made a mental note that it'd be really cool to write ''crashing beats and fantasy'' on the tank's side. Something to discuss with his crew.

The night of November 10th onto November 11th, 1983

Of course, the preparation for the number of exercises in 1983 that culminated in ABLE ARCHER 83 were suspicious to the Kremlin. There was a force buildup not seen before in any exercises, and unlike the buildup to exercises before, there was a strict radio silence. Nothing was said, nothing revealed, nothing indicated an exercise: Everything indicated an invasion. When during the night various Western European leaders like Prime Minister Thatcher, Chancellor Kohl, and President Mitterand went to nuclear shelters and activity on bases surged, the Kremlin was informed.

Central Clinical Hospital, Moscow. 0300, November 11th, 1983.
The rough awakening did not do much good to the mood of Chairman Andropov, who was struck to a hospital bad after kidney failure earlier in the year. The General Secretary was done for physically and had not much fight left in him, but his mind was clear. Dmitriy Ustinov, Andrei Gromyko, Konstantin Chernenko and Viktor Chebrikov consulted him for something of grave importance. It better be of 'grave importance' to awaken a terminally ill old man in the middle of the night. And it was. The four consulted him on what they were convinced was a NATO invasion of the Eastern Bloc. They informed him of the situation and convinced Andropov that the USSR had to act now, and undo NATO before NATO undid them. Trusting his most loyal aides' consensus, he signed the order for a massive strike of all Warsaw Pact nations against the forces of NATO. Behind the Iron Curtain, active units were raised, the navies sailed out of port and the air forces took off with full payloads. It was about to get messy. The Warsaw Pact armies weren't expecting anything, and the NATO armies were informed their alarms would go off at 2:30 in the morning. However, at 1:30 in the morning the radars saw an abnormal amount of activiy and in some cases targets were bombed. The alarms they expected to go off an hour later went off already, and the theory that it was an error in timing was taken away as soon as the words "This is not a drill" were heard. Across West Germany the troops rushed into action. The Cold War had just gone hot.

The first indication something was afoot was the number of combat aircraft taking to the skies over East Germany and Czechoslovakia shortly after 0130 hours. 7th Army Headquarters in Heidelberg, Germany received the report at 0136 which was logged immediately. The American 7th Army Commander was notified along with his staff. The Battle Captain in the 7th Army Operations Center contacted VII Corps, V Corps and 2nd Armor Division (Forward) at Garlstedt, Germany by landline (telephone) of the alert. This was no drill. Each of the Corps Commands would notify their divisions and the Division Operations Centers would notify their Brigades and on down the Chain of Command.

Captain Stewart received a phone call from LTC Mason to put his company on alert. He grabbed his call list and started calling platoon leaders, Charge of Quarters at the barracks and the First Sergeant. By 0220 hours, everyone in the chain of command was notified. For the soldiers of B Company 3rd Battalion 41st IN (M), it SSG Garrison was on CQ duty. He would knock and open each door in the barracks and yell, "Lariat Advance! Lariat Advance!" This warning alerted all soldiers of the company that they were to wake up, get dressed, grab their ruck sacks and duffel bags and head to the Motor park. The ruck sack would go on their tracked vehicle with them while the duffels would be stacked on the company deuce and half.

The order had been issued, the Soviets and their East German lackies were coming across the one K zone. Everyone was to move to their General Deployment Positions. All personal possessions not going to the front was locked in a footlocker to be shipped home at the earliest conveniences. Spouses and all non-essential personnel were cleared out of the housing area and sent back to the United States of America. The day we all have been waiting for, finally arrived. the US and the USSR were at war.



By 0900, the 3rd Battalion was in its GDP positions waiting for instructions. By 1000 hours, B Company was ordered to report to the Battalion Commander of the 2nd Battalion, 66th Armor, Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Funari. By 1400 hours, Captain Stewart was instructed to give up his 3rd Platoon and by 11430 hours, 2nd Lieutenant Frances Leahy of Worcester, Massachusetts reported to Captain Tom Stewart of Boston. Lieutenant Leahy brought four M60A3 Main Battle Tanks with him. Captain Stewart gave the 22-year old lieutenant a place on the line to cover. The S2 said it would be still another 70 hours or more before the East Germans reached their positions on the west bank of the Elbe River. By 1600 hours, Staff Sergeant Ray Nolan, 3rd Squad Leader, 3rd Platoon, D Company, 17th Engineers reported for duty. He would begin working on an obstacle plan as soon as possible. By 1730 hours, 1st Lieutenant Greg Butanowicz, Fire Support Officer for the newly formed Team Bravo, 3-41 IN (M) was ready for action. The Battalion staff for the 2-66 AR would be ready to issue their Operations Order at 1800 hours. Captain Stewart would attend with first Lieutenant Joel Cole (XO), Lieutenant Butanowicz (FSO), SSG Nolan (ENG) and First Sergeant Marsh (Co 1SG).

It was almost 2100 hours when the meeting was over and LTC Funari had a solid plan for the Battalion Task Force which included three companies of Armor, one company of mech infantry, a 4.2" mortar platoon and its inherent Scout Platoon. C Company, 2-66 AR had been detached to 3-41 IN (M). Team Alpha would be main effort with three platoons of Armor, one platoon of Mech Infantry (3/B/3-41 IN), FIST and a squad of Engineers. Team Tank consisted of two platoons of B Company, 2-66 AR and one platoon of M901 Improved Tow Vehicles from 3-41 IN (M), D Company (-) consisted of two platoons of Armor with no attachments. The Mortar Platoon, Scout platoon and 3rd platoon, D Company would be retained under Battalion Task Force Control.

During the ride back to Team Bravo's GDP positions, Captain Stewart came up with a tentative plan based on the operations order. He issued a Warning Order and Fragmentation Order immediately and by 2300 hours, Team Bravo was moving to their assigned Battle Position. During the trip there, Captain Stewart worked on the Operations Order in the back of the M113 while Corporal Rose manned the .50 caliber Machine Gun in the TC's seat.

By zero dark thirty, the Company Team arrived at their Battle Position. Captain Stewart began assigning sectors to the platoons instructing them not to dig in yet. Once the company was in position, the three Platoon leaders, three Platoon sergeants, FSO, Engineer squad leader, supply sergeant, XO and Company First Sergeant all met at the rear of the Commander's track to listen to his hastily thrown together Operations Order. The Company Team would begin digging in at 0300 hours, 24 hours after the alert had gone out. Even in a Lightning strike, it takes time for all the components to move into place.

Warfare seemed to have a funny way of rearing its ugly head up on those who least expected it, particularly Daniel. This was one war that was never supposed to turn hot, but supposedly NATO had finally cracked. They were going in for the kill. It was that which finally sent Daniel and all the others to the gates of hell. It was there they awaited their final judgement by fire. The night sky above seemed to especially illuminate each shot that went off. Perhaps it was that which made Daniel finally realize that this was no drill. He had just walked right into a real war and wasn't about to just fall. A small spark seemed to had ignited within him. He was ready. Ready to take on whichever challenges this scenario would bring him.

Just the previous day Daniel had been back at base, hardly imagining that less than twenty-four hours he would be thrust into combat. Perhaps it was that making the young recruit realize that every moment should be cherished. In this situation it couldn't be closer to the truth as he watched the first casualties of this new war fall to the ground. "Leave them, Heigemeir. They're beyond saving." His superiors advised as the medic felt urges to help all those he could. They were right. These were mortal injuries, leaving many of the men to take their final breaths before closing their eyes forever. The most disturbing part of it in Daniel's eyes, however, was that the full assault hadn't even begun. Allegedly there had been warnings issued to those in NATO to back off or face the full force of the Bloc's forces. Somehow it seemed unlikely though. NATO had an agenda and comrade Honecker and all the others knew very well what it was.

Being out in the field was already a change that Daniel felt would take some getting used to. Thankfully for him, he adapted fast. This was the military so he had no choice; it was adapt or get shot down like so many of others were bound to. This was a quick realization that brought Daniel to examining the faces of each and every one of his squad mates as they set up camp that first night. He knew that some of them were fresh faces, much like his own, that he would possibly never see again. It was a hard feeling that managed to form a lump in the boy's throat, but it was one he had no choice but to face. Perhaps he was even lucky in a way, having been assigned as a medic. Having such a crucial role certainly meant that extra care would be taken to keep him alive. It was just a guess, but one he hoped would come to fruition.

At the Basepohl air base the 5th Combat Helicopter Squadron was alerted in a surprisingly calm fashion. There were much less men at the base, and most of them were technicians. Walther and Wolfgang were awoken and informed that they had to defend the power of the Workers and Peasants from NATO agression, which was Propaganda for "Go blow shit up". With the alarm sounding thoughout the GDR they put on their equipment, grabbed something to eat and went to the Mi-24 that was waiting for them. Walter took lead. His gait made him seem like he had a rough night with another male the previous night; he seemed a bit nervous and jittery as well. He had plenty of training, but the real deal was still quite a bit different from all the training and drilling.

Wolfgang got into the gunner's seat and did a systems check - all green. He closed the canopy and looked around. The hind was a massive helicopter, an impressive machine, but that didn't mean it was capitalist fire-proof. He looked around and checked in. They were ordered to support the GDR-Soviet advance on Hamburg, a major port city. They were kicked straight into a major battle. Walther climbed into the pilot's seat. doing the same systems check. Better safe than sorry. He closed his canopy as well before initiating the take-off procedure.

"Straight on to Hamburg. We're probably tossing quite a few troops at the city. There's no way we can lose this.". Wolfgang sounded excited but nervous as the Hind took off. "Let's hope for a good hunt."

''I am confident it will be.'' As Walther said this, the Hind removed itself from the ground little by little, slowly taking off with an impressive amount of noise and dust whipped up by the rotors. They flew, just like the rest of the squadron, in the direction of Hamburg. During the flight they received the news that West Berlin had fallen without much resistance, which was a huge morale boost not only for them, but for the entire NVA. Around two hours later, still in severe darkness, they arrived at their destination. Here they would refuel their helicopters, stretch their legs, and then go out to do their duty to the German Democratic Republic, and smash the traitors. But first, where's the closest bush?

Meanwhile, in Seedorf

The night of 10-11 November was, in Thomas' words, "Kankerkoud". The men of the 41st Tank batallion had mostly settled into their sleeping bags already, but Thomas couldn't sleep since he just chugged a pint of beer and a load of deep-fried food as well as not being tired. Remaining awake for hours he was finally dozing off around 0115 when he heard a group of radio operators running across the hallway shouting in a distressed tone. While it woke the less steady sleepers up, Thomas flipped shit. "HET IS GODVERDOMME PAS KWART OVER EEN, KUNNEN JULLIE BEUNHAZEN JE BEK DICHTHOUDEN?!", he shouted throughout the dormitory - waking everyone up. It was raining insults in his general direction, but then one of the radio operators kicked the door in and shouted even louder. "WAKKER WORDEN, VODDEBALEN! HET IS OORLOG!" Nobody even bothered to respond, but jumped out of their sleeping bags and threw their stuff on.

Quintis, being a light sleeper, already found himself awake from the initial rain of insults. He grumbled something before shouting ''IK PROBEER HIER TE SLAPEN'', then attempted to head back to sleep... Until the radio operators kicked the door in. He quickly joined everyone in the throwing on of the stuff. David found himself still awake, sitting on his new ride's engine deck. He had spent the day prior cramming some personal belongings into the thing, and couldn't sleep now. He had a... Premonition, as it were, that shit was about to hit the fan. Actually, he was just having trouble falling asleep, but a premonition just sounds more interesting.

Senior officers were already busy communicating with nearby units as the men of the 41st Brigade ran to their tanks. "Voor Koningin en Vaderland!", Hendrik shouted to wake himself up. Knowing there was absolutely no time to do trivial things, he stuffed all the things he needed into his sleeping bag, folded it and threw it over his shoulder. He barely put his boots on, let alone tied them, he didn't even button his shirt, but he just put his beret on in the proper fashion and legged it. When he did so, Thomas got up and essentially did the same, except that he put his beret under his shoulder stripe and put his sunglasses on. Because the door was crammed, he jumped out of the window and grabbed Hendrik's shoulders. "Waar is Quintis?!", Thomas inquired in a rather loud and uncivilised way.

"Die komt wel, waar staan wij?", Hendrik asked.

"Geen probleem, zoek David met z'n oogpotlood op de motor!"

Turns out Thomas was right, David was sitting on the engine deck - But not with eyeliner. Both men tossed their sleeping bags in the turret bustles and climbed in - careful not to even touch the guitars. Hendrik got in first, crashing on a thawing bag of fries. When Thomas jumped in next to him he held up in front of him, looking on in disbelief. "Had je 'm niet ergens anders neer kunnen leggen?" He threw the bag at Thomas who stuffed it away. "We hebben andere problemen!", he said as he looked out to see Quintis arrive at the tank. "Als de bliksem naar binnen!"

Quintis rushed to the tank, climbing onto the vehicle without any effort. Getting inside, though, took a bit more effort. David looked up at his driver, silently enjoying the sight of their own giant trying to cram himself into the tank. As soon as Quintis was inside, he descended into the turret as well, taking his position in the commander's seat.

Sarcastically, Thomas handed him a mirror as Hendrik looked at where Thomas put the fries. A wide assortiment of snacks, deep frying fat, and a bunch of personal belongings were there. It would be rather cosy in the tank, if it weren't for the little detail that World War Three had just started. Hendrik turned the radio on, listening to the chatter as he properly tied his shoelaces and fixed his shirt. When he was done, he closed the hatch above him and sat back. Whatever happened only God knew, but it'd change world history forever. David wasn't terribly concerned with world history. He was concerned with his eyeliner. Quintis was concerned with actually finding a comfortable position, something which proved more or less impossible with his great height. The radio chatter stopped, catching the attention of everyone but David, who wasn't finished with his eyeliner. World War Three could wait for him, but not for the commanding officer of their squadron, who was calling out to his troops. "Attentie, eskadron A, rij naar de bekende posities op het Elbe-Seitenkanaal zodra ik uw naam noem, over. " He ran down the tanks in his squadron to make sure their communications were functioning, until he reached their tank. They called it Henk, but officially it was known as 'Al Capone'.

After sorting out his new wave look, David immediately went to work on contacting the captain, assuming the other three crew members knew what to do now. "U komt binnen als een baksteen, ritmeester. Luid en duidelijk, over." He put the radio away. ''... Elbe-Seitenkanaal. Quintis, doe je ding.'' David simply said. Quintis knew damn well where he was supposed to go now, and soon enough, the tank's engine came to life with a deafening roar.

Lloyd Carter, Norman Lampart and Hailey Marrow were playing cards, because they had the night shift, when Akira suddenly burst open the door.
"Whoah, slow down, Hikaru", Lampart exclaimed surprised and the cards rained down on his head.
"Doesn't matter now", Akira called. "Get your butts moving to the Meiyo. This war just got hot."
Marrow jumped up knocking her chair down behind her. "For real? The Russians are invading Germany?", she asked, a bit more calm than her face would make it seem.
Akira just shrugged. "I don't know the exact details, but we got ordered to the... uhhhm, where is it...?" Akira rummaged in her pouch until she pulled out some kind of note.
"Elbe-Seitenkanal. This is where we're going. So guys, get your gear together." She shoo'd them up and swirled around towards the hangar.
Arriving there, she opened the commander's hatch and climbed in starting her checks.
After finishing this, she climbed back out and checked the outside of her beloved Chieftain Mk.11. She fished out a paintbrush and applied some new bits of colour to parts which were a bit weathered down and checked the integrity of the tank's camouflage. "Should work for that terrain." Just in that moment, the three members of her crew came into the hangar.
"Oi, nice paint job, El Capitano", Carter said placing a hand on Akira's shoulder.
"Norman, prepare the engine", Hikaru ordered ignoring Carter for a bit. Lampart jumped into the driver's seat... well, jumped would be the wrong expression, since you can't just jump into a tank. He climbed more into the tank than anything else.
"Hailey, make sure the gun is configured correctly. I don't want to have a faulty gun while we're out on the field" Marrow did a quick saluted and entered the tank.
"Lloyd, check the engine for me"
After Akira had given all the orders, she watched her crew execute the orders like they had trained them. Satisfied she whistled for Carted to get into the loader's seat and stepped onto the turret motioning for Lampart to start the engine. The roaring of the tank sent a wave of shivers through her body. Akira climbed into her position, wrapping her S-E Mk.III mod around her and mounting her Katana on her waist and the Sterling on the other side.
"Let's go hunting, pals!"

Act II: First contact

An understandable, but horrible mistake on the Kremlin's part has thrown Europe into war. During the night, all frontline units mobilised and went to their objectives. The Warsaw Pact ran into fierce resistance from British and German border guards and reconnaissance units, severely delaying the assault. The recces held until first light, when they retreated to the known GDPs of the NATO units in the area and linked up with them. NATO responsed with massive airstrikes throughout Europe. Every plane that was ready for combat had been scrambled and assaulted troop movements in Germany, Czechoslovakia, Thrace, Epirus, and Eastern Turkey. While this happened, European NATO countries enacted complete mobilisation and impressive numbers of troops were mobilised. French units poured into Germany to stop the Warsaw Pact assault, and the Iberian armies were mobilising to do the same. Dutch and Belgian units were bolstered by the British Army's units stationed in Britain itself and moved to Northern Germany with the Danish army, while in the far north the Norwegian army battled the Red army in the bitter cold of Finnmark. Austria, Switzerland, Finland and Sweden, too, called up all able-bodied men whilst making clear they remain neutral. But the Western European efforts seemingly paled compared to what happened across the atlantic and to the east, where the American and Russian giants were waking up once again and threw their full brunt against eachother in a direct confrontation. On the 14th of November, after a number of skirmishes that inflicted very minor casualties, the Warsaw Pact had built up enough forces to assault NATO units in Northern Germany, and the order to do so was given just before first light.