(5)
The rain outside has stopped, the sky has begun to gradually regain its blue, and warmth returned to the earth with its rays. Peace be upon the green grass that endured the torment; it is now rewarded with flourishing verdure. But something worried Two throughout her reading: the absence of Four, who hadn't yet returned to the shelter. Yet, there was nothing we could do but wait; if we moved away, we'd fall into a spiral of searching for each other. We sat again around the fire, and I added two logs to keep it burning, then we returned to reading.
Everyone in the camp was re-packing for the final migration, waiting for the birds to carve us a path through the waves, destination: the heart of the destructive hurricane. And if you think hurricanes are man-made, then consider it a devastating flood basin, and don't tell me that again! Do you really think the weather is a game they control? You're surpassing madness now; rather, they are the soldiers of the Lord. Finally, I gathered my courage and called to him, somewhat hesitant: "Sir! Apologies for the disturbance, but you haven't told me yet, why am I here?"
He gave me a fleeting glance, then said, tying his belongings with annoyance: "I read your Uprising book. I actually liked it, unexpectedly. If I were a poor young man, I might have decided to mobilize because of you, and I'd probably have blown myself up at a police headquarters too."
I stared at him silently, before murmuring: "I still don't understand what my book has to do with my being here."
"You were supposed to be smuggled to the Chinese capital to lead a league of secret recruits. The government trusts that you believe in peace and seek good for our country. And because you are a hero in the hearts of many, this was your atonement. But you'll likely die with us before evening."
I sighed, before raising my head to say with bitter sarcasm: "Well, at least I'll fight alongside Sergeant Brad. I could never stand Sergeant Scott."
Sergeant Brad chuckled under his breath as he placed the bag on the table before him, then said: "You mentioned him in your book, didn't you? Called him a rabid pig. I remember that well. I showed him the book once, laughed hard then. He would have killed you instantly if he'd met you!"
A shiver ran down my spine imagining that. I prayed three times, and in each, thanked the Lord thrice for not meeting him. Honestly, I don't know if I'm lucky to be with this calm old man, or if I've just been postponed from one inevitable death to a slower one. Brad has changed, or perhaps this is his other face, the one untold in the stories. In the books, he was a feverish beast, leader of assault teams, a man who drank blood before sleep. But now, he's just a hoopoe bird, fluttering his eyes afar, watching the coming storm, as if he knows none of us will make it out.
Minutes passed slowly as I sat in the chapel—which was nothing but a burnt-out Chinese tank, someone had sarcastically drawn a Nazi flag and a cross on it, as if trying to summarize the irony of war in a single visual glance. But there was no time for contemplation, as urgent orders soon reached us from Sergeant Brad to hide and take cover far from the camp. Under the shade of the trees, I saw Chinese army planes flying in the sky. They weren't much interested in us, focusing instead on bombing any supplies that might reach us, launching heavy shells that shook the ground violently, their shrapnel reaping everything around. It seemed then that the camp's location atop the cliff wasn't a random choice, but a calculated strategic plan. The hill provided natural protection against the bombing and allowed us to shelter in its crevices, also giving us the upper hand if we were forced to flee.
And in the sky, a fierce battle raged while we hid. Shark-3-S squadron entered the fray like eager ghosts, their jets weaving between the swarms of Chinese aircraft that tried various ways to repel them. Then they executed a smooth flanking attack, lowering the noses of their planes at a sharp angle, flying like that for a mile before the decisive moment of firing. They opened fire on their opponents from above while regaining balance, then vanished amidst tongues of flame, only to emerge afterwards as they were, continuing their mission: clearing the path for us through the targeted city, as if the Chinese planes never existed for them.
Amidst this chaos, we began to move, leaving the camp, crossing the edges of craters that had become the new feature of the land. Wherever we advanced, repeated airstrikes targeted the surrounding buildings. It was said this was to secure our movement and prevent the enemy from advancing towards us, but it seemed to work against us more than protect us. Every explosion obscured vision, every collapsing building blocked our winding path. For a moment, I thought they were working for the Chinese; if we hadn't had armor and helmets, we'd be corpses amidst this destruction now.
On our way, landmarks told the story of the battle before our arrival: burning tanks, remnants of destroyed military vehicles, scattered pieces of unexploded rockets and shells, piles of empty bullet casings covering the streets like rusty autumn leaves. All this without any ground invasion of the city yet! And here I realized something terrifying: we were in a city the US army hadn't reached yet, a city supposedly still far from the direct front lines, yet it had been nearly wiped off the map. What annihilation! As we continued walking over soil where corpses had blended until they were mere shadows on the ground, I found myself thinking: How will I write this story? What title could describe what's happening here? And will I even stay alive to write it?
"Shark-8-S to Sergeant Brad. Informing you that the aircraft have departed the city's airspace within the last minute. Also, something important was observed, and command has requested we pass it to you now: Eastern Union forces are evacuating positions near the city and withdrawing their soldiers, instead of launching a counter-attack. Have they really lost hope? Sergeant Scott advises you take extreme caution when advancing. Over."
This was strange. No, suspicious is the right word. If the site we were heading to was this important to the Eastern Union, there were two possibilities, no third: First, they were about to self-destruct it as soon as we entered, which is expected from a government that doesn't mind sacrificing humans to keep its secrets. Second, they had completely lost hope and were trying to secure their important positions before falling into our grasp. But this possibility was impossible; the Eastern Union's power was still immense, and abandoning a strategic location this easily made no sense. We advanced with extreme caution, moving in a tight defensive formation, watching every shadow, every movement, anticipating the trap we might have already fallen into without realizing. Until we reached the main entrance: a deep pit plunging us towards the earth's heart, exceeding thirty meters in depth, with narrow tunnels extending into the darkness, equipped with a rapid transit rail, and dim lighting flickering intermittently, as if dying. Empty control screens, and sensors mounted on the metallic-cement walls, giving us the feeling that someone was watching us, even if no one was there. Then at the bottom, we found the surprise. Remnants of missiles, but not ordinary ones. They were Russian-made "Father of All Bombs" type, easily distinguishable as the largest non-nuclear bombs, designed to wipe out everything within a radius of kilometers upon detonation, specifically a tunnel network of this size. We immediately realized they were the cause of the huge explosions we saw earlier; nothing else could have created such destruction. This was all we found. No secret weapons, no advanced equipment, nothing but sealed tunnels and bomb remnants. There were no signs of a real strategic target here, nor any indication the Eastern Union used the site as an important military base. I felt then my heart sink in my chest. We had fallen into the trap.
(6)
To better understand what happened earlier, let's leave Chinese territory for a moment and relay the next event from inside the famous war submarine "Ohio WN," or as known among navy men: Nightmare Without a Trace. Inside the command room, the observer's voice rose sharply as he announced: "Captain! We're tracking an unknown vessel bearing identifier Eit-4-R, not registered in any of our previous documents. It's approaching at an angle of 140 degrees. No doubt it's Union-made!"
The captain didn't need to hear more. In a steady tone, he ordered: "Ordnance and Observation officers, proceed to your stations immediately and give me a report on our current status."
"Submarine depth forty meters, bottom at sixty-five meters. Deep water three kilometers away, estimated time to safety point is four minutes!"
"Good. Helmsman, turn left twenty degrees, and ascend gradually."
But only moments passed before the radar sounded again, this time laden with more anxiety: "Sir, the tracking device indicates the target is ten kilometers away, but the sonar is emitting an extremely loud noise. I suspect the actual distance is much closer!"
The captain's eyes narrowed; this wasn't normal. He turned towards the helm and issued another quick order: "Turn right two hundred forty degrees. I don't want any surprises."
Seconds passed, charged with tension, before the weapons officer called out: "Launch station ready, torpedoes fully loaded!"
"Open tubes, enter launch settings, and remain on standby."
But before any weapon could move, a sudden alert came from the radar: "Captain! Enemy torpedo approaching fast! Angle 120, distance one thousand meters!"
Eyes in the room darted nervously; there was no time to think. The captain shouted immediately: "Evade! Launch countermeasures! And launch torpedo three to intercept!"
But before execution was complete, a cry came from the observation station: "Captain! Enemy submarine... it's vanished!"
That wasn't possible; nothing disappears that quickly in the ocean depths. The captain growled, staring at the screens that had lost any sign of the mysterious target: "This isn't normal... Are all systems operational?"
"No, sir! Helm control is unresponsive!"
"Ordnance system too!"
Silence filled the room, then faint whispers arose, but everyone understood: The submarine had been completely hacked. This wasn't just an ordinary attack; control of the sub had been seized without a single shot fired. The captain breathed slowly, trying to maintain calm, before giving his final order in a firm voice: "Send an urgent message to Sergeant Scott and Secretary of Defense Kendrick. Explain the situation fully, then await instructions."
He looked around at the officers frozen in their places and murmured, barely audible: "Eit-4-R. What a fitting name for a demon capable of swallowing us alive."
(7)
We stopped outside under the sun, catching our breath while the Sergeant tried to contact command. There wasn't the slightest sense of danger, just a heavy feeling of failure, as if defeat besieged us from all sides. I, specifically, felt it more than anyone else; I had been part of two consecutive traps, and now I didn't know what I would say in my career after all this?!
Lieutenant Brad still held the receiver, his tone unchanged as he spoke: "Lieutenant Brad to Command. We are at the location now. It is completely empty. Over."
He didn't move the receiver from his ear, just waited, angry, but in a calm, terrifying way. I tried to break that grim silence, speaking cautiously: "Sir, may I ask you something while we wait?"
"We're leaving soon, if that's your question."
"No, I'm not interested in returning, as you know my fate there is prison. But I want to ask about you, about your personality. You were never like this, so what changed you to this degree?"
He looked at me for a moment before answering, his tone different this time, as if part of his past had crept into his words: "Age is harsh, like a wind carving you as it pleases. Don't you wish now for the war to end so you can return to your wife and children? Whereas previously, I wanted nothing more than to see the entrails of my enemies."
Age? What an answer! Aren't your wife and children supposed to be the reason? I've heard often about this transformation, how having a companion you're bound to can take away some of your strength as a human, at least temporarily, forcing you to change your way of thinking, even your habits and beliefs. After a while, their unique influence appears, one of two effects, no third: either your heart ignites with a flame leading you to change, or the fire that burned in your mind for years is extinguished. Before I could process his words, a voice came over the radio, rough and cold, carrying an omen of ill-fortune:
"Sergeant Scott speaking. Sergeant Brad, it seems we've fallen into the enemy's net somehow. Within the last few minutes, the Eastern Union army exploited our focus on bombing the center and seized control of the nuclear submarine 'Ohio WN' using a sophisticated hacking system called Eitr. The submarine is now located near the southwestern Malaysian coast. Be assured, whatever happens next, it is the beginning of the era of eternal chaos. Anyway, your mission is over. You will be evacuated from the area soon. Over."
A cold shiver ran through my body. What did I just hear?! Am I dreaming?! Damn it! This means war is no longer just a possibility; it's now inevitable.
Sergeant Brad turned his head towards me, his tone stern but carrying something else, something unexpected: "Officer Gordon, Special Missions Unit, what are you still doing here?"
I froze in place, not fully understanding his meaning, and stammered in reply: "Apologies, I don't understand, Sir! What do you mean?"
"The mission is over. Since you don't wish to return home with us, why don't you leave?"
My fingers trembled; I couldn't believe what I was hearing: "But... won't you stop me if I try to escape?"
He laughed a little, not sarcastic, more like a tacit admission that what was happening was no longer bearable: "Today's news was unfortunate enough that I closed my eyes for a minute, and didn't see you escape."
One minute! That's all he gave me, one minute to save my life. What generosity! I didn't waste a single moment. Instantly, I leaped forward and ran with all the speed I possessed, my feet almost collapsing, but it wasn't the time for pain. I closed my eyes, seeing only the sky before me without landmarks, one hand clenched on my chest as if praying, the other pushing me forward, as if escaping fate itself. I raced the wind until my heart pounded past endurance, until I lost feeling in everything except running. I don't know how much time passed, but when the minute ended, the bell rang, and bullets began to rain down from behind me. The firing didn't stop until the army helicopter appeared, at which point I hid among the rubble of houses, catching my breath and blood while listening to them search for me. But they found no trace, and luckily, the helicopter couldn't stay long and left quickly.
I survived that day. Finally, I was free, possessed my life anew, possessed my words anew, to write for you the facade of the final era in this book: the Era of Eternal Chaos. Two schemes, and the war began. This is the title of my story. And the coming world war won't be just a cold war like now, but a devastating fiery war, a nuclear ballistic war crushing the environment, a war for what remains of drinking water and clean air, a war that will define right and wrong for generations, a war that determines which humans will survive, a war for survival.
(8)
Ah! What pain! My back definitely arched from that long sitting session. I can't believe we wasted the entire day reading, and now, with the sunset, I can't even think about our next step, considering the danger of night and the storm. There's something else, something nagging at me, but it disappears instantly before I grasp it.
Star Two was stretching as she walked outside to get some air, yawning even though she had already slept hours ago. The long reading must have exhausted her. As for me, I preferred staying inside looking for something to eat, rummaging through bags hoping to find leftover food, until a sudden scream from Star Two cut through my thoughts. I turned quickly to find her fallen on the ground at the entrance. "Is something wrong?! What happened?!"
I didn't wait for her answer, rushing out to see for myself. And there sat Star Four outside, her hands stained with blood, and between them, a skinned rabbit. This must be the scene that made Two scream, and I couldn't blame her; even I felt a shiver run through my body. Four said calmly, continuing her work without looking up: "Apologies if I frightened you, Star Two. I wanted to prepare something special for dinner and kill some time. I assume you two finished reading, right?"
I couldn't stop myself from trembling slightly; the cold air intensified the harshness of the scene before me. I stared at her, astonished, then asked her with extreme annoyance while hugging my arms trying to warm them: "But it's cold! How long have you been sitting out here?"
She replied, shrugging nonchalantly: "I don't know exactly. I wandered the area for hours chasing this rabbit, and when I returned, you two were engrossed in reading, so I didn't want to interrupt. So I sat here."
At that moment, Two regained her composure slightly, but still looked at the rabbit as if not fully comprehending the scene. She said in a low voice, as if still trying to push the idea from her mind: "You really didn't have to do that. Nothing can capture my attention and break my concentration."
I said laughing, trying to lighten the charged atmosphere: "I can confirm that information! When it comes to reading, she leaves the world entirely. You said you wandered the area for hours, did you find anything interesting?"
Four finally raised her head, glanced at me sideways, then smiled a small, mysterious smile before saying: "Isn't spending hours outside sufficient proof that I found something interesting? Or do you think I'm foolish enough to chase a rabbit for that long?"
She paused for a moment before continuing, her voice calmer and heavier: "Rather, we are now sitting in the special place the fog hid from us earlier."
(9)
Two and I took a few steps back, trying to see exactly what Four was talking about. And then, the truth emerged before us. We had been sitting the whole time under the structure of a fallen aircraft, embedded in the ground, greyish-green. Its shattered wing, parallel to the ground, had formed an open-sided pyramid inside which we had sheltered from the rain. I had greatly wronged it earlier by describing it merely as a large metal sheet. I stared at the aircraft for moments, trying to grasp its true size, then asked hesitantly: "Is this the plane described in the book? Shark-S?"
Two stepped forward slightly, examining the structure's details, then shook her head slowly before answering: "I don't think so. It's too huge; its size would make maneuvering difficult during evasions."
A few steps away, Four watched the scene silently, her eyes fixed on the aircraft as if seeing more than we did. After a moment, she whispered as if revealing a hidden secret: "Ever since I came out and saw it, I've been wondering if it could take us back home."
My eyes widened slightly; I stared at her, disbelieving what she was saying. With this junk? I looked again at the battered aircraft and scoffed at the idea, then said realistically: "But it's broken junk."
Two didn't turn to me but continued thinking aloud, as if trying to piece together the missing parts of a huge puzzle: "She probably means the engine."
Only then did it start to seem logical. Impulsively, I raised my head and said enthusiastically: "If the engine still works, it might help us fly up a bit, but we could never break through the atmosphere with it." I paused briefly, then added quickly: "There's something else described in the book, jet engines! Maybe a set of engines from those F-35s could do the trick."
Two didn't respond immediately, just kept staring at the aircraft as if thinking deeply. After moments, she let out a short sigh then replied in a calm tone: "But from what the book also mentioned, their purpose wasn't to penetrate the atmosphere. We need space rocket engines. We cannot risk the lives of the remaining Stars, or what's left of the ship's wrecked hull."
Four was quick to agree, shifting her gaze between us and the aircraft, as if trying to connect the possibilities.
From the inside, it wasn't just a large metal sheet; rather, it held hidden secrets and unique elements within its folds, giving it a value we hadn't expected. Apart from the scattered manuals and various devices contained in the passenger cabins, which included varied information from maps to technical manuscripts, something more interesting fell into our hands: an old disc player. It wasn't eye-catching at first, looking like any neglected piece of electronics amidst the rubble, until it landed specifically in my hands. Then, the memory of the morning's adventure flowed into my mind, and I remembered the discs I had kept in my bag. Among all those discs, one specifically caught my attention, made my eyes sparkle with a brilliance they hadn't experienced before. The idea of listening to its contents via the player was tempting to the point of madness.
I rushed blindly, ran at top speed without looking back, not even stopped by the sudden slip that threw me between the seats. The pain in my feet doubled, but I didn't care. I straightened up immediately and continued running towards the camp where I had left my bag. Barely two seconds passed before Star Two caught up with me, her features overflowing with concern about what had happened to me. Then Four followed moments later, both watching me silently as I frantically rummaged through the bag, scattering its contents without the slightest care, grabbing and throwing, turning over and tearing papers and damaged equipment, until I found it.
I held it high, like a revered treasure discovered after a long search. The setting sun's light reflected off its metallic surface, granting it an aura of sanctity. It was clearly the chosen one among all, the one I had kept carefully and diligently, while the rest of the discs were piled up carelessly. Two picked up the case, held it between her hands, stared at its title written in bold script on an adhesive strip surrounding it: International Escalation - Are We Approaching World War III? She couldn't hide her astonishment before finally uttering in a voice full of amazement: "My God! Is this what you rushed off for?!"
Then Four contemplated the title written on the case in her hands, raised an eyebrow with a slight smile before saying, in a tone revealing a mixture of realization and sarcasm: "I can definitely tell it's related to your previous story, just from the title. This must be the reason for your unjustified excitement, little one, right?"
I jumped up from my spot, clutching the discs as if they were a precious treasure I had finally found, and exclaimed with irrepressible enthusiasm: "I finally got the chance! Come on! Let's listen to it now without delay!"
Two couldn't hide her displeasure. She frowned and pointed to my bag filled with scattered belongings, before commenting sarcastically, crossing her arms: "As if it's going to escape from those foundling hands of yours?! And what are all these things you have?! Now I know the reason for your quick fatigue and aching feet."
I smiled slyly, ignoring her remark, before replying with provoking playfulness: "You won't hide your enthusiasm under that mask! I know you're eager to listen to it now too."
Two didn't comment, but I clearly saw how she blinked quickly, how her eyes gleamed for a fleeting moment, confirming to me that I had hit the mark exactly. As for Four, she contented herself with a calm smile as she put aside my discarded notes, then looked at me and spoke in a more practical tone: "I think inspecting the aircraft from the inside will require much more time than I expected to understand it properly. I'll prepare dinner now, so we can focus on work at night without any distractions. During this time, we can listen to those discs and continue your story."
Two let out a long sigh, as if expecting this decision, but didn't give up without another try. She turned to Four, saying in a half-grumbling, half-pleading tone: "Stop giving Seven everything she wants, you doting mother! We need to work hard to return soon to the ship before other disasters happen there, and inform them of what we found."
Four shook her head slowly, her smile never leaving her lips, then replied quietly, leaving no room for argument: "I'll prepare dinner anyway. It's your decision whether to sit or go back to work alone."
In the end, Two could only let out another sigh, more resigned this time, before sitting down, reconciled with her fate. I didn't waste a second. I stuck close to her, the fire, and the smell of food that began to fill the air, while I prepared the player and wiped the discs with extreme care, as if handling a precious artifact. With the first pulses of sound emitted from the device, the fire flared strongly, and as the echo amplified, I felt for a moment as if we were no longer here, but immersed within that tense session, as if attending it with our own eyes and ears, not just distant listeners.