Shooting For Saviors

Part 1: Introduction

. . . . .

Truly, it felt like the Second Great War all over again, but this time looking in on the ones hit the hardest instead of being the one torn to pieces from the inside out. The passing of time felt as if it stopped that day the night became day and, rather than picking up where it left off, slowly started to rewind like a yo-yo on its string. Things seemed to not progress further, but slip back into familiar times long passed. No longer did it feel like the year 2015 with ever flowing technology, but rather the long ago, sepia shaded photos locked away in museums or albums of 1945. Except, things were a little switched. Well, a whole hemisphere switched.

It was not Hitler's Europe causing mass racial purging. It was not even Europe that was hit! Tidal waves rippled through their economy and an increase of odd weather, mostly an increase of rain, occurred. They were much farther from the enemy this time. The geographical distance helped protect them from the showers of bombs. In lieu of the divided Europe of 1945, they formed a strong unity against the attackers this time.

No, this time was much more unexpected. Much more devastating. Much more surreal. There on the peaceful night of the fourteenth of June in 2015, the missiles soared through the night sky. Alarms sounded across the world as they flew undisturbed in the halcyon night. The problem was quite unexpected though and unknown to most until too late. Those flying missiles were not to make something explode into kingdom come. They were EMP, or electromagnetic pulse, bombs. High bursts of electromagnetic radiation that knocks out all computer chip devices and electrical fields. The last, but most important piece of information before the real destruction bombs dropped was that the only two targets were the Russian Federation and the United States…

The combined force of North Korea joined with their southern relatives, China, struck swift into Russia sweeping through the nation at alarming speed. What, or who, was not destroyed by the MOAB, or massive ordnance air blast, which was supposedly only produced in the US, was leveled by the invading troops that were seemingly built up in a matter of one night. Like ghosts, they appeared quickly.

As the raining terror shook the Earth, the US and Russia looked helplessly on as the brilliant falling stars ripped into their now blacken with night cities. Those in large populated cities were hit first. Moscow, Dallas, Saint Petersburg, Chicago, Samara, Philadelphia, Omsk, Las Angeles, and others were left as empty, howling shells in the wind. Unprepared and now disarmed militarizes could do nothing, but wait until the enemy landed on their doorsteps where firefights broke out. Communications failed and strategic planning became pointless.

By o' three hundred on the fourteenth in the quiet, dark night, the Russian Federation and the United States of America had fallen. Tossed back into the industrial age that mocked both the First and Second Great Wars, the two mighty powers became silent within a terrible night.

The European countries, African nations, the South American countries, and many of the other unharmed nations became shell-shocked. They could only watch on with horror unless being attacked and leveled like the other two unfortunate countries. Stock markets dived deep into the red; overseas Americans now became nation less; Russian survivors became Chinese hard labor workers and their land became part of China. Those not needed for the labor camps were packed on cramped coastal cities where they slowly were packed onto ships and sent to the Chinese built cities on California's American coastline. There they were released into city-camps that dotted the deserted, arid desert land to fend for themselves. Those from the northern, colder parts of Russia died almost immediately from the high rising summer heat of the South West states.

Without the strong government the United States had, the survivors took immediate action. They took up their ancestral ways of the American Revolution. Local groups formed militias, which turned into migrating towns of people. The first couple of groups started to move into other survivors forming larger groups. Those once in military positions took on the higher ranks, creating steadily stronger forces. Those forces then began to attack Russian city-camps freeing the captured people who then joined the American forces. After a few months though, the Asian forces began Anti-Republic sweeps that moved through the country wiping out any survivors they came across. Thousands of people were slaughtered in large groups. Their bodies lay to rot out in the sun on open plains, clear signs for other survivors to flee.

The Asian forces set up towering steel walls along the Mexican and Canadian borders lined with machine guns, barbwire, and long, sharp spikes, stopping all survivors from escaping across the borders. Attempts of aid flown in or sailed in were stopped and sent back home without completing their missions. Some were even shot down. Although on a few rare occasions, some of the daredevils that aided the survivors made it in and out without detection. The survivors and their saviors danced around the Anti-Republic sweeps.

One of those daredevil ships that had made numerous in and out missions carried into the still water through the night. Its dark blue-green paint blending into the night's sea. Weaving slowly into the once busy port of Corpus Christi in the South East part of Texas, the vessel moved slowly on only the faint breeze. Too close to the freight ship highways of the port, they calmly drifted into the awaiting deserted docks. Not knowing where the Anti-Republic troops were stationed among the large nation made movement slow and overly cautious.

Bright emerald eyes gaze wary of the dark shadows that danced in the moon light on the empty shells of still standing buildings along the shores and docks. A tight knot worked its way into the man's throat at seeing the destruction with his own eyes for the first time. Azure eyes popped up next to him, which raked across the scarred land. Even in the dim moon light, the skeletons of the buildings showed like hands reaching to God in prayer.

"Mon Dieu…" The blue-eyed nation whispered.


A/N: Just tossing up a quick intro I had to get down. It's been annoying the hell out of me. I'd like to get a couple of reviews to see if this is worth continuing or not. I might also change the name of the story if someone can come up with something catchier. For some reason, I can't get this one out of my head. Might also look into a beta reader for this one, if I do continue on. I love constructive criticism, so do review and share. Nothing is set with this story for sure yet, so ideas are always welcomed and deeply pondered upon.

Anyway, quick disclaimer: I don't own the characters, not making money off this, purely for fun and takes up time; All politics and/or situations are not my direct opinion nor judgment, they simply flow into my story easily and keep it unique; This is not based off of true or occurring events for the main plot, but this does contain many historical mentions; I am not discriminating against any culture, race, or political view.