This Little War Of Mine

One - The Favor

*BEEP*

"If anyone is out there, please know that you are not alone. My location is th-*static*

*BEEP*

Dimitri put the radio back into his suit pocket, straightened his coat, and proceeded to the bar.

There wasn't much left of Florida, the war had left it a barren wasteland, and the wind would blow the sand everywhere. There was debris of buildings, aircraft, and unexploded warheads lying about the landscape. Some roads remained reasonably intact, but others lay crumbled and ruined. There wasn't much point for the roads anymore, most of the civilian cars had burnt out, and the military Jeeps could handle the terrain.

Dimitri stepped into the bar and grinned. The bartender looked up at him.

"Ah, Dimitri! Never thought I'd see you again, friend!" The bartender spoke in Russian.

"Nor I you, Petrov." Dimitri shook the bartender's hand. "How has the place been keeping, Comrade?"

Dimitri and Petrov were old friends who had grown up together, joined the Russian army together, and fought together. There were five of them in their group of friends. Dimitri, Petrov, Sergei, Josef, and Viktor. They'd been friends ever since school, and they had all signed for the Russian army when they were 17. Since they were too young, they had Dimitri's older brother, Pavel, vouch for them.

"Eh.. Some thugs came through and cleaned the place out. Came from the city or something."

The city wasn't a nice place, despite it being secure and hidden away. Most of the buildings had collapsed and were inaccessible, except for a few which were used as refugee shelters. A few makeshift shelters had been dotted about the streets and were usually good places to go if one were short on supplies. The outskirts were barely habitable, but the further in you went, the worse the radiation became.

"I could take care of that, my friend. I can track these men down."

"No, Dimitri. It is too dangerous. I cannot let you go alone." Said Petrov.

"Then I won't go alone." Dimitri took off his aviator shades and places them on top of his head, then winked. A genetic mutation had made his left eye blue, and his right eye green. He never really knew why. Biology was never one of Dimitri's favourite subjects at school.

Dimitri straightened his coat and left the bar. He removed his Nambu pistol from his holster, and jammed a fresh magazine into it. The handgun was a gift from one of his comrades. It was a Japanese pistol, used by Japanese officers and infantry in World War 2. Where Dimitri was going, he may need it.

The reason being, the people of post-apocalyptic Florida weren't the nicest bunch. He'd been threatened, challenged to fist-fights, and thrown out of bars. This was partially due to the fact that his thick Russian accent wasn't greatly appreciated among most Americans, and he could hardly go anywhere without being called a "Commie".

Now, there are three factions. The USCPF (United States Civilization Preservation Force) is pretty much the United States Military. They are the most well-equipped of the three factions.

The CDF (Civilian Defence Front) are just Civilians with military-grade helmets and low-quality weaponry. Most of them are scavengers, and are very good at living off the land. The USCPF claim to help the CDF, but in reality they bully them for the little resources they have.

The ACMF (Asian Continental Military Force) is all of Russia, and most of Asia. After the intense nuclear warfare between the United States and Russia in the 1950's, the ACMF was formed from the remnants of the Russian Army, and countries such as China, Turkey and Iran. The force has been regaining strength by the year, as alliances have been made to fight back against the US.

Dimitri needed an extra pair of hands. His destination, Tracktown. This was a difficult location to get to, seeing as the only way to get to the town itself was through a drainage pipe near the pre-war town ruins. It was worth the hike though.

Dimitri strolled down the road towards the old CDF gates, humming and whistling. He was an optimist, and always tried to make the best of a bad situation. Music had always kept his spirits up, as some of his happiest memories were of playing the piano in the bar he worked in. He missed late Friday nights, helping Nikolas with serving booze to thirsty soldiers and playing vintage bar music to keep the atmosphere bright and happy. Those were good times for Dimitri.

He pulled his bandana up to cover his face, and put his shades back to cover his eyes. He nodded to the CDF guard patrolling the gates, and the guard nodded back. As logical as it seemed, Dimitri had learnt that making enemies was not a good idea. He knew a lot of the soldiers, as they frequented Petrov's bar. His bar was located in the demilitarized zone between the CDF gates and the USCPF gates called "The Gap". It was the only time when the two sides were truly friendly towards each other.

He reached the drainage pipe and forced the hatch open. It had been a while since he'd last been to Tracktown. It had been built around an old cargo train carriage that had been derailed by an aircraft that was shot down during the raids of 2032. When the fighting stopped, scavengers built a shantytown around the old carriage, and it has now become the largest civilian owned town in Florida.

He quietly walked through the remains of Outpost 22, which was a small USCPF camp hidden away to create the element of suprise when ambushing ACMF patrols. The ACMF managed to find it, so they slit the throats of the American soldiers while they slept.

Dimitri aproached the gates, but was confronted by two guards, both wearing military grade helmets and had rifles at the ready.

"Hey! Who sent you?" One of them said.

Dimitri switched to English, as the two guards were American. "No one sent me. I am merely a weary traveller, looking to rest."

Oh dear.

"Well you can rest elsewhere, fucking Commie!" The other one shouted. They both raised their weapons at Dimitri, and he put his hands up. But he heard a familliar accent.

"Boys, boys. Please. Give this poor man a chance." He ordered them to lower their weapons.

"Do not worry, I am just a traveller. A drifter. I just wish to have a safe place to lay my head for the night." Dimitri said, starting to panic a bit. He was usually good with strangers pointing guns at him.

"Ah, Russian? Why didn't you say so? Come over here, Comrade!" The man spoke in Russian.

The strange man was dressed in an all black coat, and wore a cowboy hat, with one of the sides turned up. Strange attire for a Russian.

"I am Artyom, the head of this shithole" he said, gesturing to the rest of the shanty town. "And you are?"

"Dimitri. Dimitri Blinov."

"You are only young, da?" Said Artyom. He looked about mid 30's, early 40's maybe.

"Da. I turned 23 about a month ago." Said Dimitri. He was quite tall for his age, and he was one of the tallest out of his friends. He was known as a bit of a gentle giant throughout his teenage years.

Dimitri was starting to feel at home, even though he felt most of the town didn't appreciate him. But if they can accept a Russian as leader of the town, then surely they would allow a Russian wanderer.. right?