[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/dh5XBqN.png[/img][/center] [hr] >>>Wednesday January 16, 1991 >>>UN As the Brazilian speaker finished his speech the different members of the Soviet delegation looked between each other, and almost as one erupted into laughter, several Warsaw Pact comrades joining in the guffawing. Rules of etiquette were thrown out the window as one of the delegates asked for Fyodor Vladimirovich through his giggles to quietly send a message to the Warsaw pact and other brotherly nations to not make any objections to this, to let the Brazilians have their infantile fun. The only one unhappy amongst the group was the military attache, Maxim Konstantinovich. His face was somewhat grim and thoughtful as he started to write notes to later send to the Premiere. The Brazilian satellite wasn’t even a potential nuisance, let alone a threat. But that was the exact problem. The Americans had their own space program that was a far greater threat and it was quite likely that NASA was having the same reaction of condescending laughter. This was an expensive toy that would take away a great many resources from Brazil’s [i]reasonable[/i] defence of its borders from the Americans and Washington would know this very well. So too would ordinary Brazilians who would look to the sky to see a great sink of money that might just make them decide maybe the Americans couldn't be much worse than this. The man shuddered. He knew they had to be spoken to about this but Maxim also knew that much like chihuahuas and other breeds of those insufferable tiny dogs it was the small nations that had the greatest pride which would be wounded when one pointed out their follies. The fall of Brazil would be a very dire event for Soviet geopolitics as it would insure all of America’s attentions could be put towards Cuba and the other oases of anti-American thought. This would need a great deal of attention from Soviet leadership. [hr] >>>Wednesday January 16, 1991 >>>Soviet-Afghan Border [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/hkRbYYy.jpeg[/img][/center] Holy shit it was fucking hot. Gabriel Antonescu had heard it could get this bad and he believed it but he did not think it would feel like this. Moldova was warm enough, the whole nation having a wondrous tan there that many lower class Soviets went to try and receive as well. But here along the border with Afghanistan was truly something else. If he could just about weather the climate as it was by itself there was also his gear. Oh the Soviet Union in its military reforms had spared no expense even for the greenest of conscripts as himself. But whether or not that was a good idea was a question he was more and more intent on raising. On his head was a heavy helmet with goggles upon which he was yet to put on the designated camera and low light goggles. But of course before that he was to take it off and don his balaclava and active headset. Back in the training fields in Northern Russia the kit was heavy but felt nice keeping him warm, but here along Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan it felt as if his brains were boiling inside the kettle of his skull and gear. His chest felt rather ironically to be the best of it all. The water cooled suit given alongside the heavy armour was very heavy but it also kept him mercifully cold. Of course there was also the armour itself, a composite solution of soft and hard armour covering his arms from the elbows and knees up alongside his torso from both front and back with thick plates to make bullets and shrapnel alike strike harmlessly. That was far from the whole story of course as he was given an AK-74M with optics, folding bayonet, laser and flashlight combination, and grip. For a sidearm was a modernized TT chosen over the Makarov derivatives for the renovated pistol from the world war’s greater ability to defeat soft armours so often worn by the illegal stalkers crossing the border. The two weapons insured that the rig built into his armour had a total of a dozen magazines in it in combination with his multitool and grenades There were then his gloves, his boots, so on and so forth that even in the air conditioned barracks made Gabriel feel as if he had all his bones broken, and now mended was still covered in a sweaty cast. When he tried to take these concerns up with his Colonel he called him a faggot. Then to add injury to insult he made him also carry a backpack of ammunition for his squad which they were of course thankful for. But they were absolutely [i]not[/i] thankful when the Colonel said that for the next patrol the air conditioning in their IFV would be turned off “for diagnostics”, the machine’s logs showing if they tried to disobey the order once they were deep in the wild. The good part was that the Officer was also watching a movie on his TV, and in an eagerness to shoo the offending conscript away had not forbidden him and his team from setting on top of the vehicle. Though he had initially thought of this work-around to save himself, the looks from his comrades made it clear he would be driving the BMP while they enjoyed the fresh air. Thus far the squad had not seen much on its patrols, the worst they dealt with was a shoot out between some sort of smugglers that had turned into a bloodbath as the explosive shells from the vehicle’s 50mm cannon turned them into puddles of red. They had then agreed to not drive up any distance to examine the scene because they enjoyed their dinner staying inside their stomachs. In general none of them wanted to see conflict and if they heard noises akin to gunshots they tended to drive slightly around them. Indeed in this evening mist they reckoned coming upon trouble was an impossibility. But not everything could be avoided. As they approached the border village of Aradlik, shots rang out. One of the men snoozing on the roof of the vehicle cried out as they struck him. Absolutely nobody in the squad had been paying attention and in a panic two of the soldiers fell off the vehicle, while others struggled to scramble over one another unsure of where the shooting was coming from. Though the bullets that hit the vehicle would not have any chance of hurting Gabriel the rattle of metal and the sound of panicked cries broke his nerves in an instant. He swerved and several more men fell off of the vehicle who were rather lucky to not be flattened by it. As muzzle flashes illuminated the landscape to contrast the darkness of the setting sun, it was revealed that the gunmen were hiding behind some boulders parallel to the road. It was hard for Gabriel to actually hear anything with the man that was shot accidentally activating their mutual mic contact, and screaming in it. It was nevertheless hard to stifle a laugh when it turned out the man hit was Garik the Georgian, and none of the bullets had actually gone into his flesh instead flattening upon his armour. But his laughter very quickly ended when something explosive hit the outside of his vehicle. Four shots struck directly whilst two detonated nearby. “Grenade launcher!” Cried out Niklaus. He was an odd fellow, a bit obsessed with the military shite and knew more than any of the other conscripts about what was out here. Indeed, he was the only one who had not slept through half of the training lectures. It was said the Karelians were built different. Rather narrowly the vehicle was missed by a rocket that curved its path, the guided missile only failing to hit its mark by the panicked and erratic movements of Gabriel. Along with the rest of his squad went down into a ditch by the rode where they would be covered from the enemy’s assaults. Conscript Styopa peered over the edge of the sand a bullet grazing his helmet after a few seconds. “You fucking idiot get down!” Gabriel said over their line. Hopping into the vehicle Stjopa looked to Gabriel for a moment before getting to the vehicle’s electronics. “Stalkers. A lot of them. High end gear. We didn’t see them they should have avoided us. Something has them spooked. I’m calling the Colonel.” Though Gabriel knew this would result in a massive arse-chewing with punishments like using their tooth brushes to clean toilets, it was clear this was the best move. Thus he only nodded, and patched the vehicle through to the command center of the Soviet base. A video feed opened with the Colonel who was looking very angry. Still in the corner of the vision was a hastily moved beer bottle still visible in the foreground along with the glowing embers of a cigar and a movie the man was watching placed on pause. “What do you want? There’s important administrative work being done here.” the Officer demanded, the edge of his mustache still coated in some indeterminate sauce. “Sir we got ambushed!” Stepan pleaded. “Rockets, grenades, there’s a lot of them.” The Colonel was about to call them out on them spouting nonsense, but something about the fear in the conscript’s voice got to him. The Colonel was a middle aged man who was approaching an informal retirement into a roll like working in the academic field, in his weariness he was oft obtuse and unforgiving to the young men under his command, but he wasn’t a bad man and as a god fearing person he knew he’d die of a stroke in a decade if he let these boys with hardly any facial hair die on him. He scrambled on his desk, knocking over a lamp and his bottle to put on his cap before rolling his chair over to a terminal. “I’m dispatching a drone. Yuri, get over here!” The officer’s adjutant ran into the room cleaning a contact lens, cursing under his breath as he failed the first try to get it in. “Get in the seat! The guys are in trouble we’re sending a Yastrib.” “Yes Sir!” “Now where the hell are you?” the Colonel asked, inputting coordinates into his program when Stepan replied. The nearest active drone was brought under the man’s control, and its engine roared unheard to get it towards the location of the squad. Very quickly it made out the foe with its infrared scanners. Though the enemy wouldn’t observe it, the soldiers looking expectantly towards the sky all cheered. Except nothing. “Someone throw a grenade.” “Wh-” “We don’t have authority to use a missile from the drone if it isn’t worth it. Throw a grenade. It won’t reach them in the middle but it’ll force them back nice and clustered, then we can launch.” It seemed moronic to the men but they didn’t have time to argue. The Colonel applauded their enthusiasm as they all grasped the frags about their person and threw them until none were left. The vast majority were not nearly close enough to have any effect but to make the enemy laugh at the conscripts, however just enough landed close enough to make the enemy run back. “Launch.” Came the command, and a single rocket was launched from the drone. It was an anti infantry one with shrapnel in such volumes that some pieces whistled over the heads of the conscripts. Amongst the Stalkers it left a bloody mess of fingers and limbs strewn about. The Colonel of course promptly ordered them to investigate. The foe did indeed have high end gear with many instances of Western arms, armour and tactical equipment. “Take photos.” the officer demanded. Though who was here was clear, it was still a mystery why they had decided to take this fight. Fortune insisted that they find out soon. As the men returned back to their vehicle the mist started to clear and they saw coming from the road towards the Afghan border village they had been driving down to a sight brought by the clearing mist. There were perhaps hundreds of them, Afghan tribals that looked… different to how they were typically taken to appear. They had paint on their faces, their clothes daubed with all sorts of nonsense that looked even more like nonsense to the men than Afghan or Arabic. “Colonel!” Gabriel cried through the still open line. The Colonel had been doing paperwork for the launched missile, and looked up into the feed from the drone. He stuttered momentarily as Yuri zoomed in on the procession coming towards the squad. He started to say something three or four times each attempt stopping before any words truly formed. He knew what was there, he was briefed on the cult many times before. The poor conscripts of course weren’t and the better for them. “Fuck it. Yura, launch the Ad missile.” the man said, rubbing his forehead. “Yes Sir.” It flew in a flash, and it left a flash in the corneas of the squad. The Soviets had long spearheaded military thermobarics and the introduction of NLCs into combat Engineering was a rather joyous day for them. More greedily than any earthly flame the shining heat expanded across the landscape such that even the camera of the drone was momentarily rendered useless. But just as the fire came, so it disappeared. There was nothing left of the hundreds of Afghans save a charred landscape with a few bits of promptly formed glass here and there. The Colonel once again took over control of the drone and flew it some distance towards the village. There they were, drawn on the roof of the small Mosque now desecrated by the cultists; the thousand eyes. With a sigh the Colonel opened the six remaining rocket pods of the drone and launched each one to leave no trace of the village’s existence. Gabriel who had observe the event from the roof of the vehicle fell off of it onto his knees, and promptly vomited as anxiety struck at him like a brick. “Get back to the base. Now!” It was going to be a tough few years before retirement for Colonel Ruslan Kazimirko. The Afghans most certainly would not be happy about one of their villages being vapourized, and the reasoning for this happening he would have to explain to leadership. He’d get a lot more rather nasty responsibilities in the area as there was confirmed cult presence in the border in addition to growing Stalker incursions and the slow expansion of the zone. He closed his eyes, before opening them and shooing Yura out. All this nonsense was later, he had a movie to finish.