My return… it had certainly reinvigorated the war machine known as the Soviet army. But it had changed its tune and tempo, and everyone from the top down noticed, the way orders were worded, a subtle shift in deployments.
Ivanov had asked if I hadn't been to curt with the envoys from Australia and Singapore. I'd met both, apparently they'd come to scout me out, see if I was worth making an ally of. I'd nearly thrown them from my office right there.
That contact with their forces hadn't revealed the name of the user, but the relative strength compared to me… it was not encouraging. The Australian user had the might and power of the United States at his beck and call… Last place… a user with the United States military as his primary assets. Dead last, the weakest of us.
The other user, well they had access to the German federal republic, west Germany… they were in 3rd, behind my brother and myself. I'd not shut them down entirely based on that alone… but I don't have time for games.
The Premier Merida had wanted to talk about the upcoming election for general secretary… I'd not responded to any of his requests, apparently the bastard had tried approaching me during the funeral, Ponatoski had run interference.
Now… I was shut in my office, drawing up plans. Mobilization, what I'd need to move my entire army with a single order. Occasionally Ivan or Ivanov would enter and present some report which I'd approve, deny, or issue instructions.
I cast a glance at the frame laying on the desk. A soft sigh escaped me. I felt like a machine, a cog of an unstoppable war machine.
And I was crafting a lethal grand design… from what Trevor said had come out of the Il-76s black box the aircraft had had its entire left wing ripped free, then started free falling from 42,000 feet. The remains of the aircraft indicated there hadn't been any damage from a missile, and considering it crashed on the eastern edge of the blue ridge mountains… Trevor's forces wouldn't have been that retarded.
Were we just victims of the time… or suffering from some one else's goals? Can I even see it all? It's like they're trying to raise madmen on a leash… why give us this system at all… it's not terribly difficult to imagine someone abusing it…
I glanced at the counter again, the ongoing siege of Las Vegas, a new xp grinder like no other. T-72s made a half circle around the city's south, thousands of howitzers and Grads were shelling the city, enough to make San Francisco look like a warm up. The pace of ammunition expenditure dwarfed that siege…
Shit, even having a pair of thermobaric bombs dropped on the city hadn't smoked out the nests, we'd only narrowed it down to a few likely locations. Though at the pace we were going, by the first…
I crushed the small smile, the malevolent twist to it… I shook my head. No… no!
The final solution was not yet ready… I was going to find him, crush him… make him pay… I dropped the splintered remains of the pencil into the trash.
When freedom burns… all hope will turn to dust. He'll perish in flames… oh, but not simply once… weeks, months… as long as it takes.
I could see a pair of metaphorical gates slowly swinging open. When my heart died, liberty died. There was a country in despair, a nation in depression. Truth… a joke. Enter these gates… no…
I pushed myself from the desk and spun around. It wasn't their fault… at least… not that I could prove… I narrowed my eyes, staring across the city's skyline.
If even the slightest… troops would raid homes, drag them kicking and screaming. Turn their hopes and dreams to dust as they burn in flame. Who will take the blame?…
A one way trip to hell… when freedom burns…
No, I shook my head. Not yet. Some lines can't be crossed… yet…
I glanced at my watch… soon. Just a bit longer. A notification flashed in front of me. So the bombs had dropped, bathing Las Vegas in thermobaric fire… though it was little more than a series of vacuum bombs.
'Killed zombies: walkers 2,281,904, runners 1,1947,672, tank 867,625, sentinels 539,725, reavers 982,721, berserkers 572,982, harpies 716,282. Rewarded 70,604,087 credits, 319,506,085 xp, please view the shop to use your credits.'
'You have gained 319,506,085! 353,465,752/80,000,000, would you like to be promoted? Yes/no.'
'80,000,000 xp deducted, congratulations, General of the Army, headquarters has awarded you 40,000 credits!'
'You have gained 0 xp, 273,465,752/200,000,000xp, would you like to be promoted? Yes/no.'
'200,000,000xp deducted, congratulations, Marshal of the Soviet Union, headquarters has granted you 80,000 credits.'
'You have gained 0 xp, 73,465,752/1,000,000,000xp needed for your next promotion.'
A soft smile crept over my face as I read over the restrictions, a devilish plan was beginning to form in my mind.
'Marshal of the Soviet Union (limits Divisions x + independent brigades x + support regiments x + support battalions x + support companies x + aviation brigades x + 12 naval squadrons / Nuclear submarines/ Fleet carriers/ IRBM/ Nuclear IRBM/ 10 auxiliary divisions [Warsaw pact])'