The air was cool, and the evening was young. Having nothing else left to do, Major Bruno Kakarov took a stroll in his favourite combat area--the Advanced Training Combat Simulator. Ever a fanatic of fighting and war, the Major was decorated with a numerous number of medals, and he took pride in each one. The ATCS, as it was often called, was the place where the Major looked forward to training new recruits everyday. The government had told the army that the Americans were preparing an attack, but the Major had never believed the government. The world's economy flourished, crimes rates were extremely low in the Motherland, and everyone believed in a communist regime. Why would the USA, one of the world's biggest superpowers, seek to tip this balance? The Major took out his pipe, which he never really smoked but fiddled with while thinking, and began to walk in circles around the large bunker in the center of the combat simulator. Never mind what he thought; his job was to train soldiers, and he loved his job. As he breathed in the fresh air, the Major went through his country's history in his mind and sought to find anything that would invoke the Americans to launch an attack.
The new Russia was communist, but the government secretly did not support it and was fascist in all ways. Communism was just a face, one that the people would believe in and follow. After the mysterious deaths of the president and prime minister, the supposedly dead USSR KGB rose again and claimed the government. Russia was again the Soviet Union--minus the brutal dictator. The KGB claimed they were not the original fascists the Russian people thought them to be, and after they were given a chance, the group proved themselves true to their word. Was it because of this uprising that the Americans wanted to attack?
A sound behind him did not give Major Kakarov more time to think. Whipping around, hand on the holster of his magnum, prepared to eliminate the intruder. However, after seeing who it really was, the Major's eyes widened and he bowed his head.
"Forgive me, Commander, I did not realized who you were," stuttered an embarrassed Kakarov. The person standing in front of him was no other than the Lieutenant General Nicholas Tchaikovsky, the man who led a two-hundred large army against Poland and annexed it into the new Soviet Union. His uniform was so well-decorated with medals that the Major doubted if a bullet could even pierce through to his skin.
"No need for apologies, Major," said Tchaikovsky, holding up a hand a chuckling. "I am simply here to ask you a few casual questions."
"Go on, sir. I'm eager to hear them." Major Kakarov regained a standing composure and looked at the Lieutenant General as he started.
"I notice that you have been tiring more and more these days," he said. The Major nodded and added, "The wearies of war is finally starting to come down upon me. My fifty-sixth birthday is in but naught two weeks."
"I wish you a joyful day when the times comes," said Tchaikovsky. The Major nodded his thanks, and the Lieutenant General continued-quite abruptly--"do you fear death?"
Taken aback by the sudden and imposing question, the Major took a moment to answer, and he chose his words carefully. "In a world where death is stalking at the nearest corner, who can laugh in its face?"
For a while the Lieutenant General was silent, then he burst out laughing. Having no idea of what was going on, Major Kakarov laughed along.
"Wisely said!" bellowed Tchaikovsky. The two officers went on laughing as a shooting star passed them overhead. According to old legend, a shooting star only meant one thing: the drawing of blood.
The laughter died down and the Major took a formal posture. The Lieutenant General also calmed and looked the Major straight in the eye.
"You are a war-hardened fellow," he said. Major Kakarov only nodded. "Intrigue me--what are the desires of a veteran such as you?"
"Only to never see our national army falter in their steps," said the Major. "That includes death."
"Ahh, I see what you mean," said Tchaikovsky. "If that is so, the tell me Major." He lowered his head slightly and leaned in closer to the Major. Kakarov did the same. "Are you interested in an immortal army?"
Suspicion hit Major Kakarov like a brick wall. Something was not right here. Many attempts had been made at creating an army of super-humans. The result was rhetorical. The Lieutenant General's latest question set off numerous alarms in the Major's head. Again, he chose to choose his words carefully. He would please the superior officer, but not offending him at the same time.
"Everyone wants a superior army," said the Major cautiously, "but what we work for ourselves will bring us even more glory than an immortal army."
The Lieutenant General scrutinized the Major and he felt himself wilt under the other officer's intense gaze. "I see what you mean," Tchaikovsky said again. "What I am speaking of is a possible techno-biological advancement where greater beasts created out of science will become the bulk of our army." He turned around, still speaking,"...they shall be indestructible. Our foes shall cower with fear..." The Major, definitely knowing that something was wrong, began to slide out his magnum. The Lieutenant General had surely gone mad. The Major would have to dispose of him.
Slowly, he pointed the magnum at the back of Tchaikovsky's head. His finger rested on trigger; a single muscle twitched...
And in a split second the Major's right hand was gone. Still too shocked to feel the pain, the Major felt his eyes shift to an empty scabbard at the Lieutenant General's waist. Blood dripped from a shining blade pointed to his own right eye.
"Aliens." One single word dropped from Tchaikovsky's mouth. The Major dare not breath or cry out in pain. "A race of aliens superior to mankind. And they shall destroy our enemies." The Lieutenant General chuckled to himself. The Major decided that he had finally gone mad. "I was going to offer you a seat in the upper echelons where you would decided the actions of our new...horde. But that offer has dissipated like the shattering of a glass goblet. Enjoy your time in the afterlife, Major."
Even before the cold steel blade pierced his heart, he knew his fate. That night, Major Bruno Kakarov died by the weapon of a traitor very guilty of high treason. However far this plague spread in the upper ranks of the government Major Kakarov did not know, but what he did know was that the world itself would soon feel the wrath of a very, very hard to kill Imperial Soviet Union Army.
This was a short story I came up with while zoning out in math class. It has some elements of a Tremulous story, but I mainly wrote it to test out my ability to use descriptive words and grammatical terms, like similes and metaphors. Feedback is greatly appreciated, good or bad.
