Command and Conquer: Tiberium Wars

"Violence, naked force, has settled more issues in history than has any other factor, and the contrary opinion is wishful thinking at its worst. Breeds that forget this basic truth have always paid for it with their lives and freedoms."

-Robert A. Heinlein, Starship Troopers

Prologue

Corporal Stephen Edwards stepped forward, raising his left hand as the truck approached. He could see the logo on the side, belonging to a transport company that delivered barley and soy products from the western farms in Tennessee.

“Good morning,” he called, smiling. Edwards was a Zone Security officer, the equivalent of a heavily armed customs agent mixed with military security and bio-chemical specialist. Unlike zone-bound troopers and combat alert troops, he didn’t wear full body armor and a full-face helmet, but he was still fully armed and wore a flak jacket of interlocked, multi-layered ceramic plates. The Global Defense Initiative kept large, well-armed complements of troops like him at all access points into the Blue Zones, as part of a determined and rightfully paranoid effort to keep the last bastions of uncorrupted soil on Earth free of the disease that was Tiberium.

“Morning,” replied the truck driver, what looked like a kid barely out of his teens. The driver held out a datapad, which showed his credentials, cargo, and destination, which Edwards took, surprised that the man hadn’t waited until he’d been asked.

“In a hurry today?” he asked, still smiling as he read the information. Miles Benson, truck driver for Tanner Foods Inc, based out of Knoxville. Cargo, about ten tons of soy patties.

Private First Class Barnes circled around the side of the truck, carrying a small handheld scanner that was designed to check for Tiberium infestation. The food was supposed to be processed and sealed, but the nasty green crystal had a tendency to slip into the most unexpected of places, and the truck itself could have caught an airborne strand of the stuff. There could have been fragments of tib-rock sprouting on the vehicle at that very moment, and that would be a disaster waiting to happen.

That was the risk of bringing anything from a Yellow Zone to a Blue Zone.

“Yeah,” Miles said, chuckling anxiously. “I’m running a bit late today. Boss is gonna chew me out if I don’t get there on time.” Edwards laughed as well as he scanned the security pass. It looked like it checked out.

“We’ll get you through quick, then,” he assured the kid, and Miles seemed to visibly relax. Probably new to the job, judging by his anxiety. Understandable.

As Barnes continued his inspection, Edwards glanced back behind him, at the tunnel that passed through the immensely high wall that blocked off the eastern half of Carolina from the western half. On this side of the wall was rough land, with thick but scraggly grass rising out of yellow-brown soil, amidst weathered buildings that had seen better days . . . and this was right outside the wall, where GDI was quite active and the locals lived fairly well despite not being inside the protective wall.

On the other side, beyond the sonic emitters that fended off the deadly green infestation ravaging the planet, was a comparative paradise of tall buildings and thick, verdant plant life. The Blue Zones were considered the last refuges against the madness that was Tiberium, but they were small, scattered, and fiercely defended to a degree that could generously be called paranoia.

“How’s it looking?” Edwards called as Barnes circled around the truck. The tech specialist shrugged as he came about on the other side.

“It looks clean, no green rot from what I can see-” he stopped as his scanner suddenly started wailing, and he looked up, then down at the device, his jaw agape, and then spun on Edwards.

“Tib-rock!” he shouted. “At least half a ton of the shit!”

“Tib-smuggler!” Edwards shouted, whirling toward Benson, his rifle shooting up. The man was sneaking Tiberium into a Blue Zone, which was an incredibly serious offense, nearly on a par with murder or treason.

Corporal Edwards found himself looking down the barrel of a handgun, Benson’s anxious demeanor replaced by a shockingly icy calm.

“Peace Through Power!” the kid shouted, and Edwards dove to the ground as the handgun went off. Pain exploded from his left shoulder as the round slipped through his body armor, and he swung his rifle up, depressing the trigger. A burst scythed through the driver’s side door, the flimsy metal no match for a GD2 assault rifle‘s 7.62mm rounds, and a gasp of pain echoed out.

More gunfire erupted from the window, and Edwards scrambled backward amidst the wild spray of desperate gunfire. Even then he could feel the rest of the troops at the checkpoint bringing their rifles to bear.

The scream of the truck driver echoed in his ears, a motto he had heard far too often and recognized instantly.

“He’s Nod!” Edwards shouted as he dove behind a concrete road divider, a handgun round exploding off the stone less than an inch from his face. “Noddie!”

A moment later heat and force washed over where Edwards lay, and he ducked behind the concrete divider, shrapnel careening through the air, shards stabbing into the concrete wall. After a couple of seconds, Edwards looked up, to see the remains for the truck burning, detonated by an bomb hidden inside the vehicle, the Brotherhood of Nod agent killing himself to protect his Tiberium cargo.

Gray uniforms choked the entrance to the terminal as men and women went about their business, talking back and forth, syncing up personal computers, presenting identification to security personnel, and running errands. In the faint blue light of the room their skin tended to take on pallid hues, even the ones with darker skin tones, and combined with the gray dress uniforms it made everything seem antiseptic and unusually clean.

Battle Commander Alexander Karrde walked across the room, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he weaved through the dozens of Global Defense Initiative soldiers milling around in the terminal. Andrews Airbase was one of the largest airfield facilities in the world, servicing one of the most populated Blue Zones on the planet, and as such it was a hub of transit for GDI’s military personnel. Karrde himself had just gotten off of a V-35 Ox that had been ferrying a pair of fresh companies of newly minted soldiers that were being deployed to Washington D.C. from Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. As with a lot of single passengers being ferried around by the military, Karrde was rolled onto an Ox already bound for the area rather than using a civilian passenger plane.

His left wrist buzzed, and Karrde looked down at the flatscreen mounted on his left forearm as he worked his way through the terminal. The screen was part of his own personal computer, a device issued to all Battle Commanders as part of their mobile command and control duties. The device was synched up to the actual computers built into the utility belt around his waist and the implants in his skull, including his artificial right eye - a relic of one of the police actions that had helped get him his current rank. The screen lit up, indicating the information he was about to receive wasn’t sensitive - the built-in sensors would have transmitted the data directly to his retinas via laser otherwise.

It was a map of the terminal, and a single marked point just outside the building, which read “Sergeant Kinsley.” That was the soldier who he was here to meet. With a nod, Karrde turned the screen off and passed through security, handing the fully-armed and armored guards his identification and holding out his hand for a DNA sample, followed by a retinal and vocal scan. The guards also ran a diagnostic on his combat computer - referred to as a “Comcom” - to ensure it was safe. The security procedures were tight, but they were understandable considering the sophistication of the Brotherhood of Nod’s infiltration and disguise techniques. Nod agents had reportedly impersonated even high-ranking officers and in one extremely secret incident they had managed to almost perfectly fake the Director of Energy.

Once his identity was confirmed, the guards sent Karrde on his way, and he stepped out of the terminal and into the open air. The roar of an Orca’s engines greeted him as a wedge of the sleek VTOL craft shot through the sky overhead, wheeling about over the landing pads to the east. Their turbofans whirled and oriented themselves with the ground, the air swirling with waves of intense thermal energy as they settled into place in precise formation, descending to the landing pads in perfect unison. Karrde whistled appreciatively as he strode across the road, toward the blinking light on his Comcom, where a Pitbull all-terrain recon vehicle sat, a woman in gray fatigues waiting by the vehicle. She saluted smartly as Karrde approached, and he responded.

“Sergeant Kinsley, I presume?” he asked with a smile, and she nodded, shaking his offered hand. He noticed her grip was strong, an even match for his, and knew that despite her slight size that she was as much a soldier as he.

“Yes sir,” she replied. “I’ve been told you were needing a lift to the Pentagon?”

“It would be nice,” he responded as she circled around the Pitbull. “They gave me an office there and everything, I suppose I should pay a visit.” He opened the passenger side door of the stubby, almost comical-looking vehicle. With its raised body, elevated above an advanced, rugged suspension, the Pitbull resembled a child’s radio-controlled car, but that illusion was challenged by the quartet of twin-linked 180mm rocket launchers that were mounted on the back, weapons guided by the exceptionally advanced, miniaturized sensor suite built into the vehicle. It was designed as a recon platform, to seek out and eliminate hidden enemies and to support GDI armor and infantry in the field, and in that respect it did its job brilliantly. But outside of combat operations, many officers preferred to use its speed and mobility for other, non-combat duties.

Kinsley settled into the driver’s seat, while Karrde sat in the gunner’s position next to her. He tapped a couple keys on the sophisticated computer system set in front of him, and extended a cable from the side of his Comcom to link up with the Pitbull’s communications suite. The Comcom’s screen flashed, and then dimmed, lasers lancing out, tracking his retinas, and then projecting the secured data directly into his eyes as the Pitbull pulled out of Andrews. Words appeared in front of his eyes, his vision darkening as he linked directly to the GDI global military network. One of the dozens of local Electronic Video Agent AIs greeted him as he logged in, and began the handshaking routine that would let him connect with the orbiting GSS Philadelphia.

Initializing….

…

Verifying Authentication.

…

Login Authentication Successful.

Philadelphia Uplink Successful.

Welcome back, Commander.

“Peace Through Power.”

The greeting was simple, quick, and automatic, a motto of the righteous, and he responded immediately.

“One Vision, One Purpose,” he replied with a smile as he extended his hand. The figure before him, clad in a black uniform with a thick, ceremonial red cape flowing out behind him, shook his offered hand.

“Brother-Captain Alvarez,” he said, happy to see his old friend once again. “It has been a while.”

“Time means nothing in the service of the Brotherhood, Commander Rawne,” replied Alvarez. He turned and gestured behind him, down the hallway, wreathed in blood-red light. “Come, Commander. The meeting room is this way.” Commander Logan Rawne, a slender, dark-haired man clad in the simple black uniform of Nod officer, nodded as he walked down the passageway, flanked by his friend.

“You are still only a Captain? I would have expected you to have become a Major or higher after these years,” he asked as he walked, and the taller, bald Alvarez shrugged.

“In the service of the Black Hand of Kane, rank is of little importance,” he replied. “We are each awarded according to our skills and each given a station in accordance with the grand vision of Kane.” Rawne nodded, smiling at his Brother’s dogmatic devotion to the One Vision; ever since they had been Zone Runners a decade and a half ago, Jose Alvarez had always been exceptionally pious and devoted to the Brotherhood’s mission and the One Purpose. Rawne was no less devoted, but he didn’t allow his faith to interfere with his duties; it was that reason that he had pursued his advancement into the ranks of officers, while his old war comrade had taken the path of a warrior priest.

“I have not been told of why I was summoned here,” Rawne remarked, and Alvarez shrugged again, his cape rippling. They passed by a prayer room, dozens of acolytes seated around a holographic projector that was displaying General Kilian Qatar, giving her famous “Origins of Nod” speech.

“You have seen it yourself, have you not?” Alvarez asked. “The preparations are well underway, and doubtless your summons have been made as part of the greater plan.”

“I will admit that even I managed to notice the troops massing here,” Rawne said.

“You only noticed there were many more Sisters present than normal,” Alvarez shot back, and Rawne grinned.

“A lady, particularly a devotee of the Brotherhood, never escapes my notice, old friend,” he explained. “But I would like to know what my purpose is in this plan.”

“You will learn in a moment, brother,” Alvarez replied, for they had paused before a large doorway. The Black Hand took off his left gauntlet and extended his had, the glittering green Tiberium tattoo that engulfed his fingers shining in the red light. Laser scanners played over the complex weave of green crystalline filaments carefully woven into his flesh, and the door slid open.

The room beyond was a chapel, filled with waist-high mist that glowed pink in the red lighting. Rawne stepped forward, and noticed that Alvarez had stayed behind, his head lowered slightly as he stayed in the doorway. Frowning, Rawne stepped deeper into the room.

To his left were long rows of pews and seats, enough for hundreds of Nod worshippers, but no one was seated in the metal chairs. To his right, before high red and white stained glass windows, were a trio of data screens, rising out of the ground in man-height obelisk-shaped mounts, projecting lines of holy Nod texts in the divine, archaic script of the Brotherhood.

The chamber was empty, and Rawne walked toward the center of the room, wondering why he had been summoned to the chapel.

“And he cried in a loud voice: Lazarus, come forth!”

The voice shook Rawne, and he stood stock still, not believing what he was hearing. The words, the sounds, the voice echoed in his ears, a familiar voice he had heard countless times, but always recorded and artificial. This voice was real, and it was here, in this room.

There was movement to his right, behind the obelisks, and Rawne looked up, shock and awe filling his body as he laid eyes on the figure who emerged, framed by the brilliant light streaming from the stained glass.

“And Lazarus did arise from the grave.”

His smile sent shivers of devotion flowing through the Commander, and Rawne dropped to his knees, lowering his head as he saw the father of the Brotherhood of Nod, his Messiah and the one who was destined to lead the world into the golden age of Tiberium.

Kane.

Rawne was speechless for the first few moments. He had heard rumors, and knew that GDI claimed to have actually killed Kane in the Second Tiberium War, but had no body to prove it. The faith had been kept strong throughout the Brotherhood for the last two decades, and Rawne had dreamed one day of seeing Kane’s prophetic return, just as he had when the glorious General Slavik had slain the traitor Hassan . . . .

This was . . . far too incredible to ask for. He was being spoken to, personally, in the flesh itself, by Kane himself.

“Rise, my son, and look upon me,” Kane spoke, and Rawne slowly turned his gaze up toward the messiah, who regarded him with a gentle, understanding smile. He was bald, his head completely shaven, and his mouth wreathed with a close but thick mustache and goatee, perfectly trimmed and immaculate. Kane’s dark eyes glittered with unfathomable intelligence and unshakable faith and generosity, and his voice echoed of knowledge, mercy, and benevolence that knew no bounds.

Kane raised his hands slightly, and Rawne understood his intention. Slowly, he rose to his feet, to face the messiah as an equal.

“I have always believed that faith was measured in deeds, not words,” Kane explained as he stepped closer, “and while many of my children worshipped my name, their deeds betrayed them.”

Rawne nodded, Kane’s words striking a chord within his own faith, as if he knew the Commander down to his heart and soul. It was chilling and yet liberating at the same time.

“In my absence, they strayed from the path, but you, my son, your faith never wavered,” Kane continued, his smile growing. “Not in Honduras or Jericho, or in the great Rio Insurrection. You risked your life countless times to topple GDI, to perpetuate our cause . . . to honor my name.”

Rawne nearly choked, for at that moment Kane bowed his head to him, for only an instant, his gratitude nearly making the soldier’s legs go weak. That Kane himself would acknowledge his actions as such was an honor he could scarcely believe, and Rawne honestly felt he didn’t deserve, and yet it had been placed upon him by their messiah.

“Now, my son,” he said, raising his eyes to meet Rawne’s once more. “I must ask you to once more bring glory to the Brotherhood. I have seen that GDI has grown vulnerable, bloated by arrogance and complacency. Now is the time to strike! While they congratulate themselves on Tiberium advancements Nod made decades ago, we will expose their weaknesses for all the world to see!”

As Kane spoke, his words came faster, more furiously, more passionately, and Rawne felt himself being lifted up and carried by the messiah’s emotions, the anger and contempt in his voice as he spoke of casting down the fascist Global Defense Initiative, the heathens and infidels that fought against the glory of Nod and the truth that was Tiberium.

“What do you ask of me?” Rawne asked, and Kane’s anger faded, replaced by a sudden, understanding smile.

“You will go to one of our forward bases in B-1; a small camp we’ve established about a mile out from Goddard Space Center,” Kane explained. “One of our intelligence agents, one of my personal operatives, known as Ajay, will brief you. Like you, his faith is unquestioned.”

Rawne bowed again, and Kane gestured toward the entrance of the chapel.

“Go now, my son,” he commanded, and Rawne straightened. “More glory than you can possibly imagine awaits us, but only if you succeed in the mission I have laid out for you.”

“What is this mission?” Rawne asked, curious as to what his leader would have tasked him with.

“The first shots of the Third Tiberium War, my son,” Kane replied, his smile wide and genuine.

-

The Command and Conquer Tiberium universe has always been one of my favorite sci-fi settings, and I was introduced to the concept of RTS by the original back in '95, and have been a fan ever since. Tiberium Wars was a spectacular game that I thoroughly enjoyed, and I've spent plenty of hours commanding Scrin hordes and the grinding, unstoppable charge of Mammoth Tank rushes since. The universe is highly evocative and possesses a great deal of depth and power with a vast potential for storytelling of all types, not merely in the form of an RTS. Renegade was a game that I enjoyed simply because it took me down to eye level so I could see what the grunts were doing, and I can only imagine what it would be like to do the same in Tiberian Sun or Tiberium Wars. The post apocalyptic sci-fi setting of aliens, mutants, religious fanatics and disciplined soldiers waging a constant, brutal war on a world literally being transformed by an alien substance, with all the chaos and storytelling potential that involves...well, its beautiful.

Then I read the Tiberium Wars novelization, and I began to smolder with nerd rage! Some parts were good - especially the segments involving Annabelle Wu and her explorations of the Yellow Zones, which really showed how life was like in the Tiberium universe for civilians - but the rest of the novel was a major letdown, with generally sub-par writing of the combat, intermixed with obvious signs that the author knew nothing about how the military operates, along with piles of inconsistencies. I think part of this is due to my mental outrage at such a poorly-written story. Expect more lambasting of specific elements of that novel as this story progresses.

I've been writing C&C stories on and off for the last few months, ranging from modern, War-on-Terror-inspired Generals stories to the more sci-fi and exotic Tiberium breed, but I haven't published any of them because I can't get a single idea pinned down. But last week, I fired up Tiberium Wars again, and I watched the cutscene where Kane makes his opening reveal, and I thought to myself "...no, you're not going to even try to do this. You've got piles of stories sitting on your plate right now, work on one of them. Don't write another novelization." But my muse said otherwise. I'm not sure how often I'll update, as schizophrenic as I am with what I write, but its free, so no complaining :P

Not sure where this is going, but I haven't written a truely "big war" style of story before. Sure, I've written some war-time stories before, such as my Final fantasy VIII stories, but something on the scale of Tiberium Wars...well, its new and interesting, and its going to be a challenge. Best of all, its a direct foil toward my other currently ongoing novelization of Ocarina of Time, so if I get bored with writing a lone swordsman slashing his way through a epic, magical quest to save the world, I can roll on over to a sci-fi warzone with individual soldiers slugging it out in an apocalyptic wasteland, fighting just to survive for another day.

You might notice certain other influences on this story, especially in regards to Nod. I'm not going to say what those are just yet, but suffice it to say, I'm using a bit of inspiration from another sci-fi setting with religious, military fanatics with an irrational degree of devotion to a messiah figure.

Until first chapter...