You must be registered for see images
Fort The East is Red
West Guanghe Tigers Base
Republic of Jizhou, Guanghe Province
8:23 Local Time
Hong Geming strode up the hill, heading back to his post after enjoying what passed for lunch in his bunker home. Reports were that the puppets had started a massive counterinsurgency campaign, so the fort was running double guard shifts. So far, though, their remote position hadn't spotted any enemy troops.
Still, Geming couldn't help but be a little worried. A young man, little more than a boy really, he'd dropped out of university to join the resistance. He'd given up everything, including his name. His parents obviously didn't name him Hong Geming, literally 'Red Revolution.' But these days, heading back to the capital, with warm beds, warm food and warm women, started to look very appealing. Only the idea of a worker's paradise, free of the eastern devils, sounded more appealing.
So he kept watch, content in the knowledge that his keeping watch was just one more cog in the grand revolutionary machine. With all the dense foliage it wasn't easy to keep watch, though. He always thought the Tigers could have chosen a better base of operations.
“Anything?” Comrade Wei called from below, carrying the
You must be registered for see links
he had been with the resistance much longer. Hong looked to Wei as an older brother, a mentor. And he seriously needed one.“Nothing. There's never anything.”
“Be thankful for that,” Wei laughed, planting the banner on the hill as he pulled a rifle off his back, “Because you forgot this.” A barely audible buzzing sound started nibbling at Geming's ear when he took the rifle.
“Oh, right,” He giggled nervously, “I guess I can't shoot any puppets without my rifle!” It was an older sort of automatic rifle. Vangalan surplus. Not like the more modern ones his seniors carried, they were taken off dead Republican soldiers or stolen from supply trucks and depots. “Good food today, huh?” He made small talk.
“I like the curry. Good to get some hot food every once in a while. I can only eat so many bananas, you know?” Wei heard the buzzing too and looked around for the offending mosquito.
“Yeah. I don't even like bananas. Do we ever get meat?”
“Sometimes,” Wei swatted at his arm, trying to catch a bug, “If we catch a wandering buffalo or something, we can cut it up and cook it.”
The buzzing grew louder, “What is that noise?” Geming asked,
“The guys over at Guanglin used to raise pigs, I dunno if they do that anymore.”
“No, seriously,” The buzzing was suddenly drowned out by a tremendous roar as a jet shot by overhead.
“Shit!” Wei cried out, grabbing up the banner, “Puppet spotter plane. Fuck!”
The younger revolutionary looked around frantically, he had missed the plane, but the buzzing was growing even louder, “Call it in!”
Wei already had his radio in his hands, shouting into it fiercely as he rushed down the hill, “Puppets incoming. We just had a jet overhead. Ready for combat or evacuation. Geming!” He yelled back, “Get inside, we need to prepare!
But the buzzing had grown so loud, Geming could barely hear what his comrade was saying. His eyes were fixed on the sky above him, the source of the terrible noise staring back down at him. The colossal frame of a massive Republican airship had cast the entire hill in shadow. Its eight propeller banks drowned the whole valley in that oppressive buzz. Hong knew the Republican Guard had several of these airships, but he had never seen one in person before. He stood, staring in awe of the tremendous vessel for several seconds. Only the sound of its forward ball turret opening fire snapped the young revolutionary out of his daze. The ground around him shot upwards as high-caliber rounds kicked up dirt. Hong dropped his hat in panic before bolting down the hill.
The fort itself was teeming with chaotic activity. Some comrades were preparing humvees for escape, filling them with the fort's most important supplies and possessions, others were preparing for a fight. One such soldier pushed Hong down to the dirt just in time to fire a rocket at the airship, “Calm down, it's just a big target!” He laughed as the projectile spiraled wildly toward the gigantic craft, now close enough to reveal its name, Dong Feng, the East Wind. Sure enough, that wind blew the projectile just past one of the ship's starboard propeller banks.
“Shit!” The rocket comrade cursed, “Grab me another warhead,” he said to Geming, who nodded swiftly before running toward the armory. As he stepped into the dark humidity of the fort, he heard the East Wind's Vulcan Cannon fire off another burst. He silently prayed it didn't hit the missile launcher.
By the time Hong Geming made it to the armory, it was already picked over. Only a few rifles and some ammo belts left. He saw another comrade running by, pushing a wheelbarrow full of weapons. “Comrade!” He called out to stop him,
“No time to talk!” The wheelbarrow comrade yelled back,
“Wait, I need a missile to take out that airship!”
“Are you stupid?” He kept pushing the cart, panting heavily from the weight of the load.
An explosion sounded outside, knocking over the comrade's wheelbarrow. Ignoring his cries of protest, Geming dug through the supplies and grabbed a fresh warhead. He sprinted through the halls of the fort as the already dim lights cut out. The Republicans must have hit the generator. He spotted daylight, the fort's entrance. But more than daylight, he also saw fire. A giant wall of flame just outside the door, and screams. One of his comrades running, only to be consumed by the fire.
Geming froze again. A man dressed in white, not even looking much like a man the way he had been suited up from head to toe, turned his attention toward the inside of the fort. From the small, candle-like flicker at the tip of his weapon, Geming could tell he was carrying a flamethrower. The young revolutionary dropped the warhead and took out his rifle. “The funny thing about flamethrowers,” he remembered, “Is they're very flammable.” Taking the shot, the high temperature soldier's napalm tank ignited, bursting him in a fiery explosion.
It was the first time Geming had taken a life. As he rushed forward as the flames died down, looking to escape into the open air, he spotted part of the soldier's suit, a squad logo featuring the Chinese characters for 'pure' and 'truth.' Symbols of the Hui people, a Muslim minority. The puppets were importing men to do this with no connection to the land or people. It made sense.
The world outside had turned into a ravaged hellscape. Dead, burning bodies everywhere. The stink of gas, wood, fire, napalm and death all mixed together into an assault on Geming's nose. The airship's buzzing propellers still filled the air, but had been joined by a pair of gunships circling the area, looking for survivors. More of those high temperature soldiers searched the ground. And there was Hong Geming, the Red Revolution, in the middle of it all. He looked around for that missile launcher, and caught sight of it right about the time his lungs caught fire.