"Soldiers, Generals, Politicians, they never once believed we would win this war. They acted for nothing more than to delay our extinction.
Not me, not us.
We wanted to win this war. We needed to win it.
No matter the cost."
-Dr.Amai Reinhard, Hague international criminal court, 2051.
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~Children of the Rhine~
~~Chapter 0~~
~Prologue~
The 4th of May, 2034.
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In the refugee camps of the Rhineland, where ten thousand tents stood as a testament to a generation's failure, a hundred children that were soon to become adults stood in line. The fourth of May had arrived and, with it, the latest conscription for the European armed forces.
Émilien Leblanc, Major and temporary General Inspector of the European armed forces paced from end to end, looking at every one of the conscripts before him. Conscription age had been lowered again. These kids were no more than fifteen, some of them were actually a year younger. It made him sick to the stomach, even being a relatively measly 24 himself. But what truly worried him wasn't their age...no, he could at least put the blame for that solely at the feet of the war situation, what worried him was something else.
He stopped and, making a motion, called for his assistant. The man, himself only a scant two or three years older than these children, stepped up toward him. "Yes, sir?"
"Have you noticed...the eyes of that lot, to the right?" He asked, turning his head ever so slightly to the portion of the new recruits he was speaking of.
"They're the ones who survived coming from the east, sir." And that explained it. Émilien turned about and began to head to the group, it wasn't large, perhaps five or six people, but it was notable.
He stopped and examined the features of these children's faces, the way they maintained their gazes firmly ahead even as he passed by them, the glint, like hard steel, in their narrowed eyes, as if glaring at something beyond what vision alone could see and the lips set in a perfect line, giving an image that they were neither afraid nor stressed like the people beside them. He knew those eyes, those faces, those people, they were the eyes and faces of soldiers.
Choosing at random he picked one of them, a brown-haired young man with eyes the same color. "You, lad, what's your name?"
"Johann Reinhard, sir," The boy spoke in an almost soldierly way but to his credit, he didn't salute like so many people older than him did when he asked them something. Seems this one knows he's not a soldier quite yet.
"Are you German, Reinhard?"
"Yes, sir."
"Old Federal Republic?" A pointless question, really, the answer was always going to be ye-
"No, sir, Former North German Democratic People's Republic, I was born in Dresden, sir." Well, I'll be damned. That explained more than anything else why the boy had that look in his eye. If the boy seemed more like the sort to lie Émilien would have guessed he was doing just that, lying. He'd never met a single soldier who'd survived the hell around Dresden, much less a civilian, and one that would have had to be no more than eight or nine at the time, to boot.
"Got the devil's own luck on your side to have made it to this side of the Rhine when the Rotfront fell."
"Not luck, sir, just help," The boy said. He seemed straight forward, straight forward and already broken, a perfect soldier, and all that at fourteen, if his height was any indication. It made Émilien feel queasy, even if he knew it was inevitable.
"Help, you say? From who, the military?" He asked, curiosity unbecoming of an officer coming to the forefront.
"A friend, sir." A friend, he said. He seemed to really have bloody made it to this side of the Rhine with nothing but his own two feet and some help, either that or he was at least insane enough to believe he had. Émilien didn't know which was more impressive.
"A friend, you say? Not your parents?"
"Dead or...lacking." The last bit brought Émilien's eyebrow up but he decided not to press on what was clearly a sore subject, no matter how interesting he might have found it. Eh, my old drill instructor could learn a thing or two from me.
"Did your friend make it? Did he join the military? Your story is interesting enough I'd wager I could get a meeting between the two of you, even if it's under some presumption of a training exercise or some such."
"No, sir. That won't be needed, she's here already," He said. A woman, was it? And one young enough to be here? He ran his eyes through the rest of the crowd, turning right first, until a clearing of the throat to his left, courtesy of a young blonde-haired girl, forced his eyes there.
"Is that her?" He asked. The boy, Johann, nodded. Émilien stepped to the side, they were only separated by one other person, they'd likely come here together, then.
The girl in question was about as tall as the boy, perhaps older, blonde-haired and blue-eyed with her hair tied into a pair of twin ponytails that reached down to her lower waist. "Name and age, if you don't mind."
"Annette Nowak, fifteen years old." Her voice was soft despite the cold edge of her eyes. He could see that she was not naturally the kind of person to have such an expression on her face, she'd been broken just as the boy had, and it was no surprise to hear they'd come from someplace similar.
"That name, it doesn't sound German."
"I think it's Polish," She said.
"Why's that? Why you aren't sure, that is?"
"I was born in Leipzig, sir." So a German natural. More believable than having survived all the way from Poland, now that he certainly wouldn't have believed.
"So, do you believe you did help him?" Émilien asked, turning his eyes toward young Johan, who'd kept glancing at them every once in a while. It seemed that, despite his serious attitude, he still cared enough about this girl to at least break from his previous indifference.
"I think we helped each other, sir," She said. Émilien smiled and nodded, turning toward Johan.
"Do you hear that?"
"She believes what she may, sir." At this, Émilien noticed the young Annette's expression drop ever so slightly and shook his head. Young kids will be young kids regardless of how much they go through, always so dishonest. He could hardly blame them, though, the escapades he'd had in his teens were pretty shameful themselves, the mistakes of one's youth and whatever have you. And he'd had a much easier life than this lot.
With a nod, he returned to Graveland, his assistant. The Dutchman nodded before speaking. "Everything's mostly prepared, sir. Just some final words."
"Of course, of course. Can you do me a favor, Lieutenant Graveland?"
He smiled"That would depend, sir, does it involve either booze or treason? In either case, I'm afraid I must refuse."
"You must think you're very funny," He said. "I want those two, Annette Nowak and Johan Reinhardt, recommended for the Hunter program."
"Do you think they have promise, sir?"
"They have an interesting story if nothing else. If they made it this far without having their will broken they'll make it through the corps' training. That and they're short enough to make the cut."
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Graveland began to write, that ever-pleasing sound of pencil on paper, and nodded. "It's done, sir. I'll add it to the database as soon as possible."
"Thank you, do you have my notes for the speech?" Émilien asked, Graveland's eyes suddenly widened.
"Shit, I knew I was forgetting something."
"Oh, you've absolutely got to be fucking with me."
"I'm sorry sir, can't you improvise?" He asked. Émilien sighed, these were the children he was asking to put their lives, futures, and hopes on the line for the sake of something as nebulous and far removed from everyday life as their species, and he was supposed to just improvise?
He turned to look at the kids. They were younger than his youngest sibling, the very sibling that had died just six months before. How was he supposed to come up with some bullshit half-assed reason to rally them for war?
"Agh, I'm getting too old for this." With words he knew he was ten or twenty years too young to be saying, he turned toward the kids and stomped his foot on the ground. "LISTEN UP!"
Every one of them suddenly snapped their attention toward him. Some of them even snapped into attention, typical. "I had some great speech filled with a bunch of meaningful crap to give you, but my assistant went and lost it!"
A few giggles echoed through the audience. "Don't laugh!"
The giggling stopped. "My assistant made a mistake, and that's because he's a human being, just like each and every single one of you. From now onward you'll never again live the life of a child, from this moment and until you meet your ignoble end on the field of battle, you will be men and women, and above all else soldiers!"
"BUT!" His increased volume surprised some of the children. "Never forget this, for all that you may be soldiers you are also humans, you will make mistakes, and in this line of work, those mistakes will cost the lives of your dear comrades. But it is because you are humans that you can keep moving past that, that you can keep fighting on until your last breath. I know it will be hard, I know it will be painful, I know it isn't right, but remember this..."
"When faced with extinction any alternative, no matter how painful or cruel, is preferable."
"Our enemy has neither a human heart nor a human soul, it will stop at nothing until our very species is exterminated, so I tell you this...fight! Fight until the very end, no matter how painful or tortuous that fight may be, no matter how meaningless it might seem, for the alternative is nothing more than the ultimate cost. So long as you hold that truth in your heart, at the very core of your existence, your fight will never be meaningless! Remember this, your fight is not for yourself, but for everyone. We are one species, one people, and we fight as one against the dying of the light! We give all there is to give for one thing and one thing only; THE FUTURE!"
""""""""""FOR THE FUTURE"""""""""" Their voices echoed in a single chorus. That heartfelt shout from the bottom of their souls, drawing sound even from those already traumatized by this war, was the only thing he needed to know he'd done a fine job.
"You damn nearly made me cry, sir," Graveland said.
"I damn nearly made myself cry," Émilien replied, before raising his voice to address the kids again. "Get on the truck you sorry lot, I'll make you do ten push-ups if you cry from that hammy speech!"
"That is an APC, sir."
"I know that Dutch, now get on the truck before I make you do those push-ups!"
"Sir yes sir."
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~Children of the Rhine~
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The APC was rocking beneath Émilien and his back was hurting from the far from comfortable seats, but the main reason he couldn't sleep...were the damn kids. He'd gotten unlucky enough to get inside the one APC that wasn't half-filled with the traumatized ones, which made it noisy.
And the things they were talking about...calling Graveland 'cute', they had no taste at all. He let out a soft sigh, trying not to make it audible to the kids, they might have been intruding on his peaceful sleep, but he wouldn't take away their right to be a little more comfortable on a day when they'd be going through a dozen different discomforts all at once. I wonder what those two would be talking about, Nowak and Reinhard...making it past the Rhine at eight, are they really the kids from that story?
Two children who'd walked for over a year through the wasteland east of the Rhine, two children who'd survived on their own in the bloodiest war front Europe had seen since the fall of the Soviet Union. There probably wasn't a single damn person in service now who hadn't heard about them at some point, making jokes about how they'd one day make damn good soldiers. If it was those two...he could see it.
"Look at me, thinking like some kind of retiree." His muttered utterance was a bit comedic, but it wasn't entirely inaccurate to say he was at least halfway through his career, six years of military service wasn't anything to scoff at nowadays, even if most of it had been worked away from the front lines.
The radio around Émilien's hip crackled, and he let out an audible moan this time. The only person that could be on the other side of this frequency was the Dutchman. "The hell you doing interrupting my sleep-"
"We've got a report of an attack, sir! Personnel-class Charlies, at least squadron-sized, Vehicle 3's got guns on them but there's a lot! Your APC's closest to them, sir!"
"Fucking hell! Make way!" He pushed through the crowd of recruits that were only half-sitting and slammed his fist against the door to the driver's hatch, twice. The vehicle stopped immediately after. "You kids don't move a fucking muscle till me or someone else comes here to get you, don't open the door if something bangs but doesn't speak!"
Émilien forced the handle to the APC open and then slammed it shut behind him, sliding the locking mechanism back into place. 30 millimeters of steel and ceramic weren't going to do much against a dedicated amount of the bastards, but it sure had a better chance of holding up than going out there in tattered clothes and rags."What the hell's the situation, dutch?!"
"Trailing vehicle fell behind, got attacked, last night there was a small breach, Army said it was dealt with."
"Well it clearly wasn't," Émilien said, dashing his way down the broken and battered asphalt road, pistol in hand and safety nearly immediately removed. Wasn't the best of gun safety but that fell to the wayside in ambushes like these, wasn't like you could accidentally mistake one of those things for a human anyway.
"Sir we're turning the convoy around so just sit tight and-"
"Like hell I'm letting the kids die while you do a half-hour U-turn in these shit streets! Leblanc out!" He finally caught sight of the damn thing...it was already a burning wreck, several of the Chron's 'corpses' spread around, holes blown into their frames from what was probably the APC's main gun, when it had still been operational.
The kids had made it out, some of them. Others were trying to run away from the enemy, octopodal creatures whose tentacles pierced the ground, asphalt and all, to move around. In one of them, a girl was pierced through by the stomach, writhing her last with ear-shattering screams before the machine shook her off like she was some piece of trash in the wind.
Émilien's blood boiled. Anger at these things, for coming up and fucking up more people's lives, anger at the army for being unable to lift their asses and do their job properly but, most of all, anger at himself for being too late.
He lifted his gun and began shooting at the first of the enemies. Bullets rebounded off its armored shell and left nothing but small, non-damaging dents in their wake, but that was enough for the machine to turn its attention toward him, turning to face him. Its single red eye, focusing in and out like an old camera was inset within a vaguely oval black hull itself held aloft by its eight sharp mechanical legs, both weapons and means of moving about.
The creature exploded with the next shot, directed at the weak spot that was its eye. His attention turned toward another, chasing a group of kids it would soon catch up to, he shoot in its general direction again, dropped the spent magazine, and reloaded as the creature made its way toward him. In the middle of that process, his eye caught sight of something, the two children from earlier, Johann and Nowak.
The two of them were backing away toward the burnt-out hull of the APC, desperately trying to keep out of range of one of the machines, the girl was standing before the boy, arm held out to stop him from advancing, her every step seeming to push them both back just as the machine was about to strike.
Ahead of him the enemy he'd drawn out approached. He had no clear shot to the machine threatening Nowak and Reinhardt from here, and by the time he dealt with his enemy they'd be dead already. It was almost laughable, how this seemed like the sort of moral dilemma you were given in the middle of basic training. If this were basic he was supposed to let them die to ensure he could help the others live, a pretty basic value proposition. But this isn't basic.
"Nowak, Reinhard!" He shouted their names at the top of his lungs, the girl turned toward him for just a half second and he decided to make the worse, and probably last, decision of his life. He threw his gun.
The weapon flew in an arc, but it seemed it would miss. He'd failed, and now everyone would die. There's a reason they give us those scenarios in basic. But his realization wasn't entirely correct.
The girl, Annette, began moving, rushing toward the still-burning hull of the APC and using it as a platform for leverage, throwing herself into a backflip that intercepted the gun's arc in mid-air before snatching the weapon. It was a move straight out of the Venture Corps, Europe's elite of the elite. And while she was doing that? Johann had managed to distract the Chron by using himself as bait, throwing himself into its range and then out of it in a second, causing the machine to miss an attack on him and be unable to snap away at the defenseless girl in midair.
She landed, aimed the gun, and unhesitatingly pulled the trigger at point-blank range, impossible to miss. The bullet blew the machine's metaphorical brains out in the very same instant that the Chron that had been coming at Émilien's finally attacked. Unable to defend, avoid or shoot back, he was pierced through the chest.
Bits of his lung and heart fell unceremoniously toward the ground, and as his consciousness faded from extreme pain the last sane thought he had was of the future.
Those kids can change the world.
He died believing in that hope.
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~Children of the Rhine~
~~Chapter 0~~
~Prologue~
END