Cinders fell among flakes, as smoke drifted upward . . . The droplets of red fell from the open flesh, and spread from the pools leaking out of men, and into the snow, dyeing the white, crimson. The sky above, once grey, slowly turned black, and unforgiving.
28 October 1939
Deep in Soviet Russia machines manned by men slash and harvest wheat and grain, as other machines replant it. Total mechanical innovation has occurred since the occupation of Poland, the Soviet Union thrives as manual labor becomes entirely mechanized, as machines puff black smoke high into the air and the people eat in plenty. Despite the ruinous economic systems in place, the Soviet Union continues innovating its technology, and its people remain at least mostly satisfied.
7, November 1939
"The Day of Ash"
From high above white shapes of what appear to be faint clouds slowly approach. In an ominous march of the skyward beasts, they silently climb forth, sliding across the blue sky. Stalking the grounds below, grounds of men and women of Helinski, peering up at the bellies of teh drifting beasts. Upon whose side a bright and bold insignia of the Soviet Union remained plastered upon it's fore. From its prior victory of the invasion of Poland during the double-edge offense during the Second Great War. The Soviet Union with it's maw held with pericing teeth as a grip of the Polish east, and the Balkan states, turns now to the north.
The blimps which drift so peacefully as the clouds of the air, puff out snow-like ash, as it rains down from on high in soft, drifting specks, which line the streets and clump in small piles by gutters and on rooftops. It is only then, they begin circling the city. Building by building, folks creep out and chance a peer at the small white dots which drift closer and closer as they circle the sky. Standing outside their homes, men and women become fixated upon the white masses, which glide smoothly in the high winds, and slowly become larger and larger. The war is over, and so, what could this be?
In a moment, it is revealed. The bay doors open from the underbellies of the great steel clouds. From above, drifting with the ash, falls a black egg from the first blimp. And then another, from the second, as it sails on it's course to the ground, the winds form around it, and it slopes, and like a bullet from a rifle, it propells downward, with a faint spinning motion, and lo, beneath it hell rains.
Explosions of the buildings people had just left to witness the floating whales send bricks and rebar into the streets, crumbling and collapsing in on themselves. Shooting out these concreate and brick slabs onto unsuspecting victims walking the streets. Glass shatters and spits out bits of shrapnel, as the ash slowly drifts down among it.
Stalking the grounds below, grounds of people scattering and screaming, as shrapnel and soot sail and blood pools, the blimps drift. Alarm is raised in Helsinki, and yet, it is too little too late, the damage is done, as the city slowly burns, as bomb after bomb destroys the infrastructure and transport system of the city.
The quaint buildings topple upon one another, crushing each with its own chain reaction of pressure, reducing all to rubble. The chalk white of the Helsinki Catherdral crumbled beneath its rising spires only to plummet upon itself, and collapse onto the streets.
None are spared, as ashes of grey and white fall into the pools of deep red blood, lining the streets and faces of men and women alike. Rubble piles up, only to be coated with ash once more, as the hospitals and government buildings are burned. Fires catch and spread as factories and tanks of oil combust under the pressure of the explosions.
Black darts continue to fall, one by one, as the fifteen blimps circle the city five times each, with each circle, gaining closer, with more precision, and allowing for less time for those in the buildings they lurk above, to flee.
