2091: The Cryosoldier

Prologue 0-1

It was already evening, the sun touched the horizon, which consisted of a huge mountain range. Icy wind blew through the valleys, while remotely animals called. No one knew exactly where they were, only that it was a mountain range with a lot of snow and untouched forest. In contrast, beneath the mountain was a maze of rooms, elevators and military facilities. But for Mary, the center of the world was just inside the massive concrete hall that could be called the lobby. It was a large rectangular area in the middle of the mountain, originally a cargo entrance that had been converted into a banquet hall. Dozens of benches and tables had been set up, the flags of all the participating nations hung on the walls, and the smell of a large and unhealthy buffet was in the air. Every visitor had found at least one dish from his or her country, not to mention the selection of alcoholic beverages. On the stage, the military band was playing Mary and her Russian friends' wish: "Glory to those who look forward" by Alexandra Pakhmutova. Of course, she and her comrades sang along as loud as they could. Not only was it a beautiful song, but it fit the situation they were in. What else could they do but look forward when they were voluntarily forced to undergo experimental cryo-treatment. A scratchy feeling spread through her throat, so she decided to retire further back with a glass of vodka, since it was now the turn of the Japanese delegation's music request. She sat down at an empty table away from the other revelers. The clink of medals rang from her chest - a lot of metal for someone at the tender age of 29. The right side of her NVA dress uniform was almost completely covered with medals from various countries. With that, she could compete with many Soviet generals. Despite her chic appearance, she still wore a pink hair band in her black hair - a trademark.

She tried not to think about an uncertain future - no one wanted that. That, among other things, was the reason for the generosity of her superiors. Music, alcohol, food, company - all of it was distracting, and that's exactly what they needed. Each member of the UN Special Operations Force was allowed to invite their closest and most important confidants, as long as they were trusted. For her, it was her parents, a choice that posed no problem; after all, her father was a highly decorated air force officer in the Bundeswehr. She raised the glass to her mouth, only to feel the sharp taste of vodka again in her throat. Then she reached for a cigarette from her uniform jacket and searched in vain for a lighter in her pockets.

"May I please, Fräulein?" A voice sounded next to her in broken German. Immediately, an already lit lighter appeared from under her cigarette. As she took the smoke into her lungs, the figure entered her field of vision. A hulk with a stature and face that would have earned him employment as a KGB thug. Viktor Rezkovitch - strong, dangerous, intelligent and her best friend. His athletic build was accentuated by his classic Soviet uniform.

"This kindness won't save you from hell.", she answered him in accent-free Russian. A language she had been forced to learn in order to be allowed to join the NVA in the first place. German was her mother tongue, English had been taught to her by her father and French by her mother. In addition, there were the snippets of language she had learned during her assignments abroad. Mary always felt it was nice to be able to talk, discuss or sing with other people.

"Pfff, you'll get in there too, don't miscalculate there, we'll all get in there!" He laughed and pointed to everyone in the room, even the children. Humor was his specialty. It didn't match his appearance, but that only made his character more humorous.

"You know, this bunch in front of us is really something," Mary said thoughtfully, inhaling the smoke fresh into her lungs. Viktor knew what topic would come up now - a standard topic at every meeting of the entire force.

"We fight for any systems and ideas in the world. In conflicts where people are fighting each other over religion and politics and skin color and race. But look at this bunch." She pointed to a group of older men, some of them on crutches or in wheelchairs. "Department Bravo, recruited from the security apparatuses of the countries of 1939. Everyone expected them to get into each other's hair by 1941 at the latest, but no. They are the best of friends, fought together, some died together. Why can't the rest of humanity jump over their shadows and see what unites them, not what divides them?" As Mary spoke, Viktor mimicked her gestures, bored.

"The world lost a poet, when you were born, mh? Look at it this way: people spit in eachothers soup, so we could have a job. They're just being helpful!" Viktor's mischievous smile and bright brown eyes were mercilessly answered by a grim look from his squad leader. But before he could make another sarcastic comment, they both noticed the soft squeak of a wheelchair approaching.