Chapter 12: Into The Wild

Homeland can never be truly replaaaaced

This is nook I call holy

Neither Dunes nor palms there abound

Only a pine most swervy

"I swear, this music is worse than war", said Marko spitting through the rolled down car window. Outside, someone's homeland rolled by impassively and did indeed contain some pines. I wouldn't know if someone found this place holy or at least bearable. I was here on patrol, looking for things more dangerous than potential dunes or pines.

It was the great decision of someone far away who commanded our base to start regular patrols in the countryside. The aim was to increase security, get the locals to see who their real friends are (and accept the truth of Kane, eventually) and maybe get the troops some more experience as well as constantly keeping them on their toes. This was half briefing, half guesswork, but we accepted the task nonetheless. We are brothers and sisters of Nod, after all, and the faithful have to do any task, even if it's not immediately related to the fight against GDI.

Now, fights against alcoholism, those happened. It was all a relic of the Soviet Union, dead for twenty years, but still haunting the region from the bottom of the bottle. After all, if their fathers and their father fathers took up drinking as a way to pass time while waiting for the socialist paradise, why wouldn't the farmers do it? The outlook was bleak after the collapse of the union, it was bleak during the war and it sure didn't look up afterwards.

So they did what they could and lived, and farmed, and drank in their farms that still hearkened back to the days of Lenin on TV and Rhino tank monuments in every town. The buildings were mostly white silicate brick, with some of reds crumbling away in the most far off settlements. Some had plastic windows; all had random crap strewn around their yards. As for surroundings, they could enjoy fields stretching away to the distant mountains, not so distant patches of forest and occasional crumbling carcass of a collective farm.

Not much remained of those after the fall. Any metal that could be sold was looted long ago. Afterwards, some craftier characters stole brick to build houses, barns and actual brick shithouses. The dregs of the dregs of soviet architecture remained, never touched by the hand of MCVs, and with every last pane of glass falling victim to local children. Combine this with overcast sky and anyone would be driven to drink. Maybe that's why there was no GDI presence in these parts: too poor and too sad for the gentle souls of their mighty military.

That is not to say that things weren't at least marginally improving. While the regions far off and closer to central-Central Europe – places like Austria and Poland being the outliers – received GDI funding, these folks didn't. However, they got something else: their relatives. While industrialization might have started the move from rural areas and cities, this was an ongoing process that was halted by Soviet Union. After its fall, many of the younger ones had free reign to move to the cities, where opportunities, education and jobs not related to agriculture abounded. However, the war showed that cities had wondrous properties in attracting bombings, artillery and destructive house to house fighting. And once those migrated to parts unknown, other beasts would take their place. Named Looting and Disruption of Services and Sanitation, they transformed cities into an all together undesirable places to live.

In such moments of desperation, people would miraculously remember relatives who not only lived far away from marauders, but also had access to water and food, imperfect those sources might be. So, whoever had a car or so would go back to visit their parents, grandparents or aunts of various caliber... and not go back. Eventually, some of them filtered back after the war, but some stayed, tried to make it all work and were the ones mostly responsible for signs of modernity in the farms.

Yet such modern farms and farmers were few and far between, and settlements were usually small, yet plentiful. Houses would normally band around traffic arteries, creating small towns two or three rows deep. You'd also find villages much smaller and towns with several thousand people. We, however, were tasked with patrolling the smaller ones, the line of thought being that winning the hearts and minds of people in the rural areas would help us seep into the cities. It was a lot easier to do it here, since these areas got less attention from central government and law enforcement, thus being more concerned with any sort of protection. Short of actual protection rackets.

So that's why Nod whipped up these cars for us. Jeeps, not too new and not too old, were good for this, offering a good off road performance, something that's usually expected from military vehicles.

Plus, they were quite inconspicuous, at least at first. We didn't travel in a very close convoy and changed routes daily. Of course, people would notice us, eventually, or rumors would sweep that some farmers have protection contracts. That was fine with us, we needed unofficial recognition. Word on the grapevine was that in addition to our duties, command hoped that our presence would draw out – AGAIN – criminal and other unsavory elements that we could eventually crush. I don't know if that was true. And even if it was, well, soldiers of Nod are not there to question orders like that, they're there to follow.

"Nothing like a stroll in the countryside", remarked Tokran while holding the wheel lightly, "well, in a jeep, at least."

Tokran was the new guy in our section. Our squad was reorganized to meet the requirements of the patrol, which were four troopers per car. So we received two new folks. For our small group, it was Tokran, a rifleman and a driver. An amicable fellow with some wit to it – so far, not a bad team mate to have, but untested in battle. The second section got Anna, a new markswoman, to be precise. There were talks to setting us up with two more people to form an MMG section, but it was decided that this wasn't prudent and our mission profile didn't required an MMG. And if we ever got where needed its firepower, we would likely be in no position to deploy it properly. Ambushes – and that's likely the only time we'd be in deep trouble – tend to be tricky like that. Besides that, if we ever got into anything we couldn't handle, we were to effect a fighting retreat and call in reinforcements. Hopefully, angry farmers and annoyed wives won't pose much of a threat.

And even if they did, there was a special something that would take care of the problem. It was big, awkward, took a lot of place between my legs and I had to qualify to use it. Hell yeah, we were finally issued under barreled grenade launchers. Likely someone was a fan of GDI Marines, since one person in each section had to become a grenadier. It was decided even before the new guys came, and so, Andrea and Amina got to train in the fine art of lobbing grenades from under our rifles. The girls put their silent completive spirit to it: Amina had to show excellence as a squad leader, while Andrea was simply used to being competent in any given task and couldn't back down. Many training grenades got fired during whatever free time we used. You might be reading a book, but somebody is thumping away - more likely than not, a young woman.

Me? Well, I had some problems at start. Ballistics is a tricky business, or at least I thought so. Luckily, it wasn't like I didn't have an eye for setting ranges, I was just a little off my mark. The instructors didn't really agree to that, but it was obvious to both sides that some measure of work had to be done. So I did what I could in reading about the subject and worked hard in practice. In truth, it wasn't all that bad: the recoil was negligible and the launcher fired with a very satisfying *twomp*. Eventually, the scores improved and Damocle's Sword passed away from my head.

So that was the new composition of our sections. A rifleman, a grenadier, an SAW gunner and a marksman. The grenadier would also have to lead the section, mostly directing fire. So that was one way how I was inched towards a more command role. Still, the real burden was on Amina's shoulders. And luckily for me, Marko and Sonja were both competent soldiers, hopefully, Tokran would prove to be one, too. All in all, I was happy with my comrades in arms.

"Wait, the fuck is happening there?" Sonja was peering through the window. "That farmhouse at one."

I told Tokran to slow down a little and took out binoculars to get a better look. At first, everything seemed to be normal: a white brick building surrounded by a wooden fence and a yard strewn with typical farmyard crap. I caught movement in the corner of my eye and soon, I saw a woman running around the house. While this wouldn't be important by itself...

"Oh hell", the curse slip from my mouth as a bare-chested man appeared from behind the building, running with an axe high above his head, "is he trying to kill her?"

I switched my radio,

"Car-2, this is Car-1, do you read?"

"Car-2 reading you loud and clear", Amina's voice was as calm as ever.

"We're seeing domestic violence in progress. One male with an axe, chasing a female. Do we intervene?"

The radio was silent for second, some barely perceptible static spilling out of the speaker.

"Car-1, you are free to intervene. Non-lethal force only. Car-2 and Car-3 will secure perimeter before joining you. Car-1, do you copy?"

"Car-1 copies".

Tovar was already steering the car into the plain dirt road leading to the farm:

"When the military become the cops, the common man becomes the criminal, right?"

"Oh shut up".