This is a preview of my upcoming novel, "Contingency" this particular part being a paragraph from chapter 2. It's set in 2029 during the Fall of Kgerland, but the aesthetic is extremely similar to the Fallout series, where humanity never evolved past the 1950s. The main character is Erik Roltz, a former member of the elite Kgerlandian military branch of the Waffengeschütztes Geschwader (basically the Waffen SS.) He joined as an enlisted man and fought in Kosovo during the Kgerlandian-Slavic wars for 3-4 years. He left it as a First Sergeant and is a decorated war hero, specifically with the Iron Cross 1st Class and the Wound Badge in Silver.
Now, I know what you're thinking when reading this first paragraph, "wow this is just the third reich lol" and yes, I'm aware. Flat out, I am a wehraboo (not a proto-nazi one,) and Kgerland is heavily influenced by the Third Reich (1933-1945) and the German Empire (1871-1918). Kgerland itself broke away from Germany, and a high majority of the population is considered to be, well, German. The Kgerlandian leadership (out of the Kgerlandian universe, me) stole about 85% of its military-style and medals from Germany. Also, I would like some feedback on my writing, and I'll say this now this is not my best writing, and I'm not a very good writer (hence my overuse of commas and the word "he" and "I".
Starting the car, Erik reached for the radio knob, turning it on. He switched to his favorite channel, “144.4 the Enforcer,” a state-run music station formed just a couple years ago. The radio would play a mellow English song, entailing the story of a man who doesn’t want to set the world on fire, just wants love. About a minute in, the song is cut out, as he heard several loud strikes of artillery in the distance. The building that broadcasted “the Enforcer” had been destroyed by an artillery battery. He searched the channels, before finally picking 44.9 “Irish Radio.” Clever name. Some fast-paced, upbeat songs about kicking the British out of Ireland. He forgot about Britain, it had been so long. After Kgerland had conquered it, it was renamed to “Greater Ireland.” Guess the Irish got the opposite of what they wanted. In the distance, as he drove, he saw a Russian T-35/76. Its engine was on fire, and the turret was laying on the rubble of an apartment building. Erik slowed down, pushing his car into an alleyway, before grabbing his sub-machine gun and stepping out of the car, crouching. He had felt the rumbling of a Russian T-64’s and British (or, well, at this point, Scandinavian) Centurions. Damn Land-Lease programs. As he shuffled into the building of the alleyway, he looked out the window of it, watching the brown Soviet-era uniforms walking through the Kgerlandian streets, marching with the large Russian and British tanks. He crouch-walked sideways, tripping over a body. He looked down at the body, gripping his submachine gun before it could clank on the floor. The body wore the uniform of the Bewaffnetes Schutzgeschwader, a Panzerfaust 100, along with multiple M24 Geballte Ladung wrapped around its chest. The body, besides uniform and equipment, seemed to be an extremely young man. Couldn’t be but thirteen, fourteen. His collar showed a Rifle and an Anti-Tank, with a key in the middle of both. The boy was a part of an anti-tank regiment of a Jugendabteilung, a youth division. The boy was wearing a buttoned-up dark green tunic, tightly bound, wearing a balaclava-scarf mix with the front part completely gone. His helmet was the standard field-grey. He looked at the boy’s dog tags, showing “B. PRATHER; CATHOLIC; O-; 01/13/2016.” Blood was splattered on the dog-tags, and as he unclipped the boy's jacket, he saw three bullet holes, all of them gone straight through his back and his heart, lung, and liver. The boy next to him, laying on his stomach had the same identification and supplies, but his first Panzerfaust round had been used. Guess that explained the destroyed T34. The boy was a bit taller, and looked a bit more mature, looking about twice the age of the other boy, however, Erik would soon find out that this guess was incorrect, as he lifted his body, looked at the dog tags. The dog tags read “M. STEPHENS; EASTERN ORTHODOX; AB-; 02/12/2016.” The boy wore a tightly packed together buttoned-up military-green overcoat, a similar headwrap to the first boy but with a bandana face mask. His helmet had an oak-leaf pattern. There were no apparent wounds on his body, but there was a single hole through his brow-ridge, and two through his calf and Achilles heel. Seeing what, he presumed, the Russians had done to one of the Youngest Members of Kgerland, he was infuriated.