//------------------------------// // Interlude: The Darkest Year // Story: Red Banners, Red Stains // by BurgerFanMan //------------------------------// Why, hello there. Western Punjab, British India. August 6th, 1944. 10:05 PM The British officer accepted a cup of tea from an Indian servant with a smile and a nod. The servant, bowing exiting through the doors of the comfortable and cosy lounge. The officer carefully tipped a teaspoon of sugar into the cup, and began to stir. "Thanks for coming," began his American counterpart, sitting across from him. The American had declined the offer of tea and was instead attempting to light a cigar. "Ah, it's the least I can do. Let's skip the formalities. What's gotten you all shook up?" The British officer took a sip of the hot tea. The American gave a short, forced laugh. "I wouldn't say 'shook up', just wanted to share something... interesting that I came across today." He paused, continuing when the British officer nodded at him to go on. "So I was down at the market, trying to spend my hard-earned paycheck-" "Sitting around the American embassy is 'hard work' now?" The American officer grinned at him. "I do get a bonus for being abroad in what is technically a warzone. No taxes, either." "Ah, a dream for you Americans. Carry on." "Mhm. So I came across this interesting stall- more of a wooden box, really, with two small gaps for seeing outside- and a woman asked in perfect English whether I wanted to have my fortune read- she had the accent and everything." "Interesting. Perhaps someone who's worked for the government most of their life?" "Could be. She seemed pretty old, judging from the voice. Normally I don't trust this sort of thing, I'm a man of God and of science, but she offered to do it for free." "You agreed?" "Didn't have anything better to do. So I offered her my hand, she just looked at it through the box for a while, and then suddenly proclaimed that she had a 'message' for me." "Oh, I do love a good prophecy." "No, no, I mean a message." The American motioned to a slightly crumpled letter laying on the table. "Handed me a plain envelope with this letter and a photo." The British officer's face grew serious. "A spy reporting back?" "No. Read it." "Are you sure I'm allowed to do that?" "Fairly sure. At the very least American intelligence has nothing to do with this." The officer picked up the letter. The paper felt slightly odd- smoother and crisper than what he was used to. The whole page was occupied by a carefully calligraphed statement. Time and time again our worlds are shaken by war. Angels and devils move their pieces, playing a thousand matches against a thousand opponents. There must be someone to protect the pawns and the king- to give up everything for their people and their leader. For that purpose, We created the six of the Court of the King. The Six rise time and time again in the darkest hours of the worlds. They serve to maintain harmony and protect against the forces of evil- evil that originates from all sides. The Six do not always succeed. But they always come back. And so they shall return, on this day, in the 45th year of the century. Do not give up hope, even when all seems lost, when creatures have lost their heads and your world burns. The Six will return. The British officer gave a confused laugh. The letter was too dramatic to have been written seriously. "Don't mind this nonsense. It's a beautiful piece of prose though, don't you think?" And yet, he felt a small spark of uncertainty inside. He could see it in his American friend's eyes. "As you would say, I'm afraid we can't immediately discard this information." "Why not? You received something from another source?" guessed the officer. "Sort of. I had a... dream last night." The American officer gave another, half-insane laugh. "There was a purple... horse, standing in front of me. About my height. It was wearing a crown and a chestplate with a crescent on it. And it told me the exact same thing in the letter." There was silence in the room for a few moments, as the British officer set down his teacup delicately. "You're sure of it?" "Completely. It makes sense, too. The world is in peril and darkness. Despite our advances into France and Italy, and that of the Soviets into Poland, the war is far from over. Who knows how long the Nazi party will continue to hold sway over Germany, and how much farther Japan will advance into Asia?" His eyes gleamed with hope and promises of victory. "These 'Six' will end the war. I'm sure of it." "If so... what do we do about it? Why did that woman give you the paper?" The American officer stared at him as if he had gone mad. "Isn't it obvious? We will aid the Six and end the war!" Proiciamus Primus HQ, Confidential. August 6th, 1945. 9:00 AM "What have you done?" The British officer aimed a pistol at his former American friend. The American simply laughed in response, making no effort to protect himself. Each of the dozen soldiers in the bare, white room had their rifles and pistols aimed at each other, unsure who to side with. "So you've heard the news? I've ended the war! Or, at least, I'll end it in three days." "You've killed hundreds of thousands civilians," responded the British officer in disbelief. "The Japanese? They sided with evil. I will cleanse the evil." "Why? WHY? We were supposed to wait for the Six!" The American officer stood up and walked slowly over to the British officer, ignoring the pistol aimed at his head. He stopped right in front of it, pistol almost directly touching his forehead. "Don't you get it? I'm one of the Six." "You're insane," breathed out the British officer. "Here's my prophecy. The world will know the name of Lieutenant Colonel Jameso-" BANG The Lieutenant Colonel's face appeared to explode, spraying blood directly into the British officer's face. He fell backwards. Dead. The British officer realised with horror that he had been the one to pull the trigger. The white floor was stained red. Did that shock you? A Train, ???. August 7th, 2045. 10:53 AM "So... when exactly did your men infiltrate the Russian army?" Captain Linton glanced at the two pony guards sitting across from them. They wore red uniforms reminiscent of old British Redcoats, with swords sheathed at their sides. He wasn't sure how they could be used effectively in such a confined space, but he didn't want to risk it. Another pony passed by the window set in the compartment door. He had expected the ponies to threaten them into silence like they had before, but instead just glanced curiously at Pilot Pavlov. Captain Linton nodded to Sergeant Ali. "Tell him." He didn't see any reason to keep the information from Pavlov. Sergeant Ali didn't seem surprised by this decision. "So we were like, chilling in Poland..." Southern Poland. 7th June, 8:13 AM Captain Linton pointed at the black dots fading into the distance. "Looks like the Americans have retreated. Sergeant Ali, have you found the Major yet?" "Not yet, Cap'. But digging through this rubble is, like, really meditative and all that jazz," Ali replied. He and a dozen men were trying to find the Major- or his corpse- inside a collapsed building. Captain Linton looked down the once picturesque street, now more reminiscent of the warzone that it was. His radio buzzed with a short message. "Russians approaching. Full unit." Captain Linton gave a small Hmph. They would have to proceed without the Major- meaning Captain Linton was now in charge. "Infiltration unit, get ready! Support squad, use the Humvees to get Safehouse Charlie!" he shouted as he jogged down the street to one of the technicals and popped open a crate in the back of the truck. Inside were several Russian uniforms. Captain Linton picked up an officers' uniform and headed inside the nearby half-collapsed building. He dressed quickly before returning to the technical to grab a Russian rifle and officers' beret. By now, most of the infiltration unit had grabbed their equipment and were now rubbing dirt and grime on their Russian uniforms. The GLA uniforms were kept back in the technical which, at Captain Linton's signal, drove off to join the Humvees speeding down the road to the south. A few moments after the technical disappeared around the street corner, a Russian Mishka APC drove up from the north end of the street. It paused when the disguised GLA soldiers came into view, before continuing on and coming to a stop right next to where the group of 50 or so soldiers were waiting. The passenger side door of the APC opened. A young Russian soldier leaned out. "What are you all doing here? Our unit's responsible for this sector! Who's in charge here?" He spoke in a commanding voice despite the insignia revealing him to be a mere Junior Lieutenant. Sergeant Vladimir stepped forward, one hand held up in greeting. He was a Russian native who had joined the GLA. "Lieutenant Vladimir. We were scouting the town when we came across a battle between the GLA and the Americans. We were just searching for our Major- he got crushed by a building." The last part was technically true. "Got any standing orders?" "No." "Did you contact command?" 'Lieutenant' Vladimir hesitated for a second before responding, "They told use to wait for the main advancement." The passenger conferred with the driver of the APC for a few seconds because beckoning Vladimir over. He was handed a radio receiver. "Talk to Captain Rujy. He'll clear things with command." Vladimir glanced at Captain Linton before accepting the radio receiver. He had a short conversation, then handed it back to the passenger of the Mishka. "We're merging into your unit. Captain Rujy is in charge of us now." "Just like that?" "Just like that." "Well then... welcome to the Volki, Lieutenant."