THE RUSSIAN STORY
CHAPTER ONE: A NEW DIVIDE
*FACILITY 1, MOSCOW, RUSSIAN FEDERATION*
I try and pass the time these days, the music the commander plays on the speakers, I don't mind it, hell, i'm fasinated with the Pyatnitsky Russian Folk Chorus, it beats the moans of the undead. anything does. We have alot of past time here, drinking vodka, playing soccor, in hindsight, the facility is larger than i originally thought. regardless, I needed to something to read, I had been given alot of books, diaries, hell, anything
I went into my quarters, I looked for anything and randomly chose a diary, and out of it, I chose one entry to read. it goes as follows:
Diary Log #013
Lieutenant Gennady Vladimirovich Alexandrov
175th Motor Rifles Division
January 14th 2008
six months, six long months, that's how long it's been since the start of the shit, I mean, come on, we don't know what were facing really, there dead aren't they, they moan, they bite, they eat you, wouldn't that be a good reason to the fucks.
I say this bluntly, we do not have the modern equipment like our comrades to the west, no. we wore tunics from the war that were moldy and could barely keep out the cold, let alone a bite. we also wore arm guards, some 1960's flak vests and neck guards. Despite all this crap we got during the Cold War, the soviet stockpiles were the only things that could help us now. Ancient equipment, PPSh41's, Mosin Nagants, SVT-40s and a metric shit ton of ammunition to follow it.
When we went into battle, we didn't have the neat battle formations, we didn't have the chain of command directing, we went head on, guns blazing, all hell. We'd shred them with ungodly amounts of bullets, suffocate them in the firestorm of our flamethrowers and crush them under the tracks of our prehistoric T-34 and IS-3 tanks! We'd have peasants tag along with us and they were as brutal as we were. One day, at a town close to the Russo-Chinese border, we saw these people, pitchforks, sawn-off shotguns, Mosin Nagants they had from the war, they were bloodthirsty.One of them, surrounded by one hundred undead, he came out with a crowbar and blood all over and one hundred Zed's down.
Sure, Moscow has forgotten about us, and we'll be left behind when the facilities, but, as long as there is 150 Million undead in Siberia, we will not tire, and if we run out of bullets, out of shells, out of fuel, we'll pick up the weapons of the peasant and we'll fight till the end.
FOR MOTHER RUSSIA
I flipped to the next page and saw a picture, it was of forty soldiers, looking like World War 2 Soviets with flak vests, they cheered, with the lieutenant in the middle, one knee down, he had a smile of confidence, behind them was a massive pile of dead Zed's, must have been hundreds.
His story isn't over, our story is far from over
I was eclisped by the picture, did he survive, did he do as he was promised, did he fight to the end? but I heard my name being called, so I dropped the diary and placed it upon the tall pile of other stories.
"Boris, just looking through my stuff, what do you want"
"The guys are playing a soccor match, officers vs NCO's, you wanna come"
"Yes comrade, I always reach to beat an officer at a great game"
With that, I place them in a locker and walk out for a soccor game
"Are you alive Gennady?"
*SOMEWHERE IN SIBERIA, RUSSIA*
A lone man stands out amongst the two ranks of 156th troops, he throws his cigarette onto the cold Siberian ground, he picks up a club and orders his soldiers to do the same. the rifles slung on their back they walk into the field of frozen zombies, they would beat there heads in, save the bullets.
The man leading, was Lieutenant Gennady Alexandrov
"This will never end, and I like it that way"
CHAPTER ONE END