Your True Colors

by RainbowSpecOps

Chapter 1

Feelings and inner emotions are what define you and everyone else in the world. Emotions can tell someone whether you’re happy or sad, nice or rude. Occasionally, those feelings can get the better of anyone in the world, spiraling out of control like a raging bull or driving you into a pit of despair. But, when it gets down to it, every human being is the same, an instinct to survive and a drive to prosper in any situation presented, living with what they have. For this, that is the time they show their true selves, their true colors. And when we show our true colors, it is what permanently defines us in the real world.

All around was nothing but the noise of a constant plane engine, make that 4 engines running at once, all in rapid secession. The whirring of the propellers lulled many to a calm and somehow peaceful slumber where they hadn’t a care in the world. How could you catch sleep in this situation? A situation that was causing the others that were not affected by the white noise to become nervous and still thankful for their lives, how far they have come up to his moment. The ones that were sleeping used it as an excuse to escape realities problems and the events that were leading up to this moment; they were the ones afraid to face adversity and to forget the life’s problem. But, they had every reason to be nervous and yet thankful for life, for their lives could be lost, hours from now.

He looked about the plan where his fellow soldiers sat in lines on the side of the plane itself, each chair filled by a passenger. Each of them had a same expressionless face as they starred to the floor or to each other across the cargo room. Close friends quietly talked to each other, sharing laughs and stories about their previous adventures and mishaps that adorned the past. For the most part it was completely silent in the longhouse-like cabin of the plane; only the whirring diluted the silence. The only thing he could do to pass time was play with his hands a little, twirling his thumbs under and over each other as each ticking second past. He leaned forward whilst doing just that, looking to the floor to gain focus and to calm himself.

The cabin wasn't completely empty after all; it was actually full of equipment that was going to be very useful in combat. Mesh ran along the expanse of the walls to hold guns, clothing, equipment, and many other things that were of no use right now. Through the middle of the room were large crates that probably weighed 1000 lbs each, the contents of the crates contained ammo for guns, mainly for PKP’s and Ak74’s which were standard issue for Russian forces. To put the cherry on top, 2 T-90a Russian tanks armed to the teeth with both 105mm and 125mm Armor Piercing Sabot/HE-Fragmentation shells and a 7.62x54R PKMT coaxial machine gun in the main turret. The man always loved the T-90’s, their sleek design and yet still rugged texture made the thing intimidating, granted that if a 2A46M 125mm tank gun was starring you down, it’s always intimidating.

He went out of his trance and noticed the soldier next to him had taken a drink from his flask that he carried, it was worn and yet still retained it silvery shine. His ski mask hid the face of the nameless person who looked seasoned in the arts of battle, he also had no expression to his face as he wiped the excess liquid from his lips. The man went still for a second as he looked to his next door neighbor, smiling a bit. “Khotet’ nekotoryye? (Want some?)” He asked in Russian, holding out the flask to him. He looked at it a bit and decided might as well, “Spasibo. (Thank you)” The Russian grabbed the flask and pressed it against his lips, taking a large gulp of the surprisingly good alcohol. He handed it back to him, he instead licked his lips clean, bourbon was his favorite. He never liked that foreigners always depicted Russians with vodka, it was pre-programmed bullshit to him.

It seemed only fitting that he introduced himself to this random person that sat next to him. Even though they had never met before, they were still in the same army, fighting for the same cause. He now spoke in English as went back up against the walls of the plane, relaxing. “I’m Stanislav Rodion.” He held his hand out and waited for a handshake, the man responded. “Sergei…” He also responded in English, as he returned the professional and firm handshake. His name came from his mouth with a firm tone, but the long silence in the end had thrown Stanislav off a little. “Listen Stanislav, once you’re out there, stay focused and ferocious like a bear or like the harsh Siberian winters, the Americans will show no mercy against you.” Sergei responded in a serious and informative tone, Stanislav nodded in respect for his words. “Call me Stan.”

/././

“Yes, I am aware of the situation good friend. Intimidation is something that can go a long ways when fighting for your life. It really can mean the difference between life and death when you get in their head.” Stanislav looked up to the ceiling and nodded with himself, Sergei looked about the room. “I envy that friend; bravery is something our army lacks these days, if only we had more like you.” Sergei replied in a heavy Russian accent, he really was a true Russian from birth. Stan laughed softly. “Hehe, well what do you expect when I get to wear bulletproof armor huh?” His Russian accent was the opposite of Sergei’s, light and barely noticeable when he spoke in English.

2 hours of small talk later…

“From the looks of it Stanislav, you seem to be Spetsnaz Support. Damn, I imagine that the training was vigorous huh?” Sergei said smoothly as his hand reached up and patted Stan’s shoulder in approval. “Yea, I knew it would be but, being in those forces was what I dreamed of becoming since I was little. I was always the one who liked helping out squads, the role just called to me. And, you can’t beat light machine guns when up against a lot of people.” Stan replied with happiness when he reached for his PKP Pecheneg that sat on a rack above him, caressing his gun in what appeared to be a loving embrace. He handed it the Sergei who looked at it with respect and also love for the Russian ingenuity.

“A fine gun indeed, easy to load and suppressive as hell.” He lifted up the belt feed cover and checked the pullback of the bolt on the side, then looking through the deactivated holographic sight. “How many rounds have you put through the thing?” Sergei said to him as if he should know the answer, Stanislav immediately dismissed it. “*Pfft* More than you can imagine.” He responded in a joking sort of way, just as Sergei ran his finger across the full barrel.

“What can I say, it’s my pride and joy. Chose the paint myself too.” They both thoroughly inspected the well done but worn flecktarn urbanized paint job that suited the weapon swimmingly. On the side of it was a scratched in saying that was carefully carved in by the wielders knife so long ago. It had said ‘podavlyayushchiy ogon'’ which meant ‘suppressing fire’ in English. It ran along the barrel of the gun, it was the perfect place for the customized feature. He put the gun back onto the rack and looked to the cold floor of the plane, arms crossed.

Stanislav Rodion was a very well built man; the soldier had to be masculine if he was expected to carry nearly 100 lbs of ammo and occasionally C4 explosives at all times. He was pretty average when it came to height, which was surprisingly, and exactly 6 feet tall, just more room for ammo. As for his appearance, Stan was mildly tanned with large arms and legs that contributed to the masculine subject, but his body overall was still lean. He had brown hair that was he kept styled to sweep sideways atop his head, having a soft, spiky look. Stan had blue eyes and a slightly oval-ish face, his beard was just mere stubble as he had a goatee of black. A fine soldier indeed.

His exterior, (which was his armor and equipment,) was a heavy infantry uniform and suit. The helmet was a very unique looking wielders helmet, morphed into a more spherical shape to be used in combat. His ski mask that was under the helmet covered everything but his lips and blue eyes, the face shield was up at the moment. The chest plate was thick Kevlar which was meant to withstand a shotgun blast at close ranges, buckshot of course. Stanislav’s front and back was adorned with pouches and bags that were put into place by belts and harnesses to hold the ammo and equipment he carried, which were full. His arms and legs were covered by breathable fabrics, only to be layered by armor plating. Cut off tactical gloves and boots added the touch of a force to be reckoned with.

Stan knew that the time was coming for drop off, which meant boots on the ground. The others around them had started to wake their fellow comrades from sleep, pissing them off more than they already were. He was questioning himself as whether he would make it out this time from the battle, a battle that will come from the pits of hell like the others he had fought in. He controlled his breathing to a minimum as he personally rallied himself to be brave and fight with honor. Gazing at his bayonet which shone brightly, it had never stabbed anything with flesh besides strings and fabric. His trusty MP443 which has seen much us during his tours, he never really knew if it killed that one long ago. That memory was just a blurry nightmare to him, all around was just explosions and gunfire which thankfully, muffled the cries of pain from wounded soldiers on both fronts. The mystery person he shot had fallen, the face he had when I popped up from behind cover was unforgettable. He wasn’t prepared for a surprise like that when he saw the pistol rise up, a face of pure shock. Alas, the amounts of bullets that came at us was all too great to even check if he had died, even though he was an enemy, Stan was a humane being that wouldn’t want things to suffer, even if he was killing others that didn’t deserve death.

It was sickening to him, he was just a private at that time and he was so eager to take the life of another man. A person who fought against him and he was supposed to kill with orders, it was in his nature to follow them. Stan had failed to realize how much he could be wrong, what if the enemy wasn’t really bad, if they were decent beings that would become friends quickly through friendly chatter. This thought had crossed his mind so much that it was uncountable, never really talking to an American soldier, he really wanted to in a peaceful manner. But he wouldn’t act with stupidity; he would protect himself if someone had threatened him to die, even if the person was a decent being as well.

“10 minut! (10 minutes!)” Yelled the pilot from the near end of the room before disappearing into the cockpit of the plane. Stanislav popped his neck a few times, trying to forget about the possibility of death or being captured as a prisoner of war. He closed his eyes and thought of happier times when there was no conflict between the 2 major super forces, where you could have not a care in the world. Those were times where economy flourished and peace ran worldwide, somehow brought together by an unnatural force. Why would peace be abundant and run rampant in a world that has only known war and superior force over one another ever since man roamed the Earth? It confused him, he had never understood why there was peace in the first place, treaties that were signed and handshakes of agreement, only to be inevitably discarded and torn through differences, it was the balance of mankind itself.

A sudden rumble that boomed from outside echoed through the room, now causing all of the inhabitants to stir from their thought processes of fond memories. “proklyat'ye (Damnation)” He mumbled as everyone grudgingly hoisted themselves from the comfort of their chairs to prepare for drop off. Stanislav found himself doing the same. “Lightning? This just gets better by the second.” He shook his head in humorous disbelief as he also shook his boots to make sure they we secure. He quickly reached into his chest pockets and took a little notebook out of the compartment, which also had a little pen to go with it. He struggled to open the thing as he was a shaking, nervous wreck, when he opened it; the notebook was full of ‘battle logs’ which to him were what he wrote down before war.

Stan took hold of the pen and began to write down in Russian, he tried finding the right words to express into his journal entry. He wanted to write about courageousness and his last thoughts, in case he did die. He finally found the words…”To all who reading this passage, my name is Stanislav Rodion of The Russian Federation. I am a Lieutenant in the Russian Spetsnaz Armed Forces, which I have seen too many horrible things over my years to get to that rank. I write this down as a sense of closure, for they may be my final thoughts and sayings as I get launched into a warzone. In the events that you find this, I beg that you tell my mother, Gerda Rodion in Moscow, Russia about my disappearance. If you find this on my body, then it is obvious I am deceased, and if not present, then I am most likely Missing in Action. I am 23 years of age. Date – August 4th, 2021.”

Stanislav nodded in affirmation as he then closed the book and placed both pen and paper into the hidden compartment that was in his chest plate. He jogged over to the crates to inspect them for parachute flaws and to secure them well, 10 others joined him as they went through standard protocol. He bent down in a crouch position as he used a metal wench to tighten the reins on one of the crates, his comrades doing the same on all the others after they checked parachute equipment. “bezopasnyy! (Secure!)” The man yelled for all to hear, others started to yell the very same thing in different pitched voices and tones, patting their handiwork. Walking back to his part of the plane, he looked down and checked his equipment to be secure to his body, patting the straps and clips that kept pouches closed.

Checking his MP443 was essential as well, he pulled the slide back and watched a round chamber itself into the barrel, he released his grip on the slide which then snapped back into its rightful place, it was a satisfying noise as he holstered it. He reached up to his PKP Pecheneg and grasped it tightly; releasing all the nervous tension he had built up in the plane ride into the carrying handle, good thing it was made of steel. Through all of the drop offs he had been through for years, he had never been this nervous before going into a battlefield, it still felt off to him that he was acting this way. Stan did the same thing to his light machine gun, but he didn't put an ammo canister on the gun for it would have a high chance to fall off in flight. The gun oil he had in his pocket found itself in his hand as the belt feed cover was lifted, he inspected the gun and oiled the moving parts so they wouldn’t freeze up a really bad scenario, but there’s only limits to what a weapon can do.

After placing the oil back into his pockets, he hefted the gun to his chest and let it rest there for a bit. He grabbed harness clips from his shoulders and clipped his gun to the front of his body, snapping them onto the skeleton stock of his gun and the carrying handle for maximum safety. “2 minut! (2 minutes!) Yelled a different voice in Russian that was relatively near him, making him stand straight for an odd reason. A pair of goggles that everyone was given for skydiving was on the rack above his heads, he stretched the elastic on them and carefully placed the things on and over his eyes.

A flight instructor ran past him, he knew that it was about to begin. Stan felt a sense of regret and sadness, in the years of training and service, every drop in or even tour, he never really had a person to back him up on anything, no friends. The friends he did make moved on, they went to different squads and never see each other again, sometimes they were even Killed in Action. With that, he was really dull in most situations, but with dullness comes the ability to sense emotions from others around him, and they were bad.

“podklyuchit! (Hook up!)” Upon command, everyone prepared there safety hooks which was a simple snap on piece of metal connected to nylon threading. They placed the hooks onto a long bar that ran the expanse of the plane, made exactly for soldiers to drop in from the skies. He didn't move as every moment passed him like he was stuck in the sands of time, everything appeared slow to him. The man promptly shook his head to snap out of it yet again, “Stop! A soldier never gets side tracked; stay focused and stay on the mission assigned.” He said to himself in his mind. As of now, he was actually getting frustrated with his own self for becoming so gullible and weak-minded. Frustration that was radiating off his thoughts had also fueled the fact that he was actually incredibly nervous, but still had a sense of eagerness. Perhaps it was an eagerness for adventure or even trying something he had never done before, like he was ready for anything.

Stanislav had a thousand yard stare that was fixated on the closable ramp that permanently held its place in the back of the plane. At any moment, it would open them all to a hostile world that only wanted to kill them and see them suffer. The only thing that the inhabitants of the plane could do is fight back and overcome, to exert their might on anyone that dare face them. He did a mental checklist to remember everything he needed. “Parachute,” he felt a bulky back and dangling rip cords in the front. “Weapons,” his hand felt up his PKP Pecheneg and MP443. “Ammo,” he looked down to his full pouches and bags, then randomly to his canteen. “And helmet.”

He gingerly glanced upwards at the piece of metal that was securely strapped to his head. He motioned his left hand and tapped the visor twice, doing the exact same with his right hand. To Stanislav, it was a sign of luck on the field, to protect him. It also meant that he hoped ever so much not to die in battle, to see another day in the future and hopefully a peaceful one. “proverit' linii! (Check lines!)” The instructor yelled through the room with a small pause between the ‘check lines.’ Stan straightened out his nylon line and tugged on the hook.

A red light illuminated the room even further than it was, in fact, Stan never realized that it had been on for minutes before he took notice. He shielded his face from the howling winds that came from the rear, the ramp slowly creaked open to reveal a mix of storm clouds and afternoon sun. It didn’t end there, an unmeasurable amount of planes dotted the sky around them, they all looked like birds finding their prey as hundreds flew over the drop zone.

Without warning, the crates that were only feet away from his figure were suddenly dragged out from the ramp like something monstrous grabbed hold of it and tossed it out of the plane as if it were a toy. The noise that it created was so loud that he couldn't hear himself when he talked, and the screech that it made as well could destroy the ears of anyone who wasn't wearing their hearing protection. He counted each one as they passed by, each of their parachutes deployed the second they left the relative safety of the plane. Once again, Stanislav controlled his breathing so he wouldn't hyperventilate during his free fall, which could cause him to die, he needed to stay calm.

Suddenly, the red, glowing light turned into a vibrant and colorful green. A piercing beep rang through the cabin of the plane, signaling for all of them to run to the exit. His face grimaced as he saw one after another run for the exit, wearing a face of brutality and stone, he did the exact same as his fellow counterparts.”Eetee! (Go!)” The instructor motioned his gloved hand to the exit, repeating the words every second and as every man passed him. His instincts were the only things that carried him out, all he did was put one foot in front of the other. Every step, he came closer and closer to the exit, counting the people in front of him as he ran. “5…4…3…2…1…Voosh!” Stan jumped from the plane with amazing speed and dropped like a rock, plummeting into this hostile world below.

Within the confined view of the helmet and goggles, it was nothing but the static of lightning and the jet black planes that flew about. His soldiers passed him by, each holding their arms and legs out in the same free fall pattern. They all had to focus themselves to the objective below, guns and loose items violently shook in the wind as they dropped faster and faster. The thought that had to be running wildly through all their heads was why they were not receiving any flak or AA in return of the approach. That was the small relief they had, not having to worry about other obstacles whilst airborne so they could collect themselves when everyone hit the ground.

It was at that moment, just seconds out of the plane that was thousands of feet in the rather chilled air, the hairs that were attached to everything on his body stood up, though it was hard to feel with his armor on. The towering thunderheads that engulfed the crew were all to menacing when lightning could be seen surging through them constantly. The arching of the lightning bolts crossed over to other clouds, becoming more and more frequent below him. The thing that threw him off even more was the lack of noise all the lightning bolts were creating, no crack or boom ensued.

A sudden ethereal memory flashed before his eyes as he was blinded by the brightest thing he had seen in life. Sparks flew around him as the lighting that had struck him dissipated slowly around his body, he didn't pass out from the jolt he received, it didn't even affect him at all. "What? How can this be!?" Stanislav said out loud, only to be muffled away by the wind. He never realized that everything around him had silently vanished, no soldier or plane could be seen or heard, only the clouds remained the same. Stan twirled his body around to see how far he was from the plane, the felt breathless when he only found cloud cover.

A good minute had passed after the lightning show had stopped, he scanned desperately for the looming ground. He had the sudden idea that the ground may be covered with fog and wouldn't be visible from above. Struggling to maneuver his arm over to his chest, he finally ripped the cord loose from its place. The whiplash that came with a sudden slowdown like that could of been deadly if not trained properly. Not a second later, he spotted ground below his body, which was laden with thick trees and chirping birds.

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[ButtCatt]

*Land in a open area of grass and trees*
"I SURVIV-"
*Tank land on him*
-The End.