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inky-duchess · 9 days ago

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Fantasy Guide to the Army

I have been asked to do this post for quite a long while and I finally got around to it. This guide is a basic guide, you may need to do further research into specific armies across the world. Armies are a necessary part to any world building, so what do we need to know about them?

(PS I had planned to include air force and navy but I am just one person and I cut myself, and the read more link, some slack)

Ranks

Field Marshal (FM) The Field Marshal is the highest rank of within the Army. The rank of Field Marshal was often granted in times of war (a general must have committed an act of valour, i.e. a victory). The rank can sometimes be used as a divisional command rank or brigade command. The UK, Austria-Hungary, Afghanistan, Germany, India, and Pakistan use the rank as a reward for achievement. Spain and Mexico use it for divisional command while countries such as Portugal, France and Brazil for use it for brigade command. The rank of Field Marshal is a "five star" position. The rank does not exist in the US army. They are addressed as Field Marshal Surname. Their insignia is two crossed batons surrounded by yellow leaves set under a crown.

General (Gen.) A General is the commanding officer of an army or army corps. It is currently the highest rank granted in most armies today, it is a 4 star position. A General is in charge of commanding large units, they are in charge of making strategic decisions for the army, oversee major military operations, manage the needs of the army. They are addressed as General Surname. Their insignia is four stars (US, France, Germany, Russia) and a sword and baton crossed under a crown and a star (UK). Lieutenant General (Lt.Gen) Lieutenant General commands an army corps or a division (tens of thousands of soldiers). They are also involved in strategic planning. They also hold positions within the Ministry of Defence/Equivalents. They would often serve as advisers to the government and aid Generals. It is a 3 star position and they addressed as Lieutenant General Surname. Their insignia is three stars (US, Germany, France, Russia) and a crossed sword and baton under a crown (UK)

Major General (Maj.Gen) Major General is a general officer in the army, responsible for leading and operational roles. They would command divisions of tens of thousands of soldiers. They support the officers above them, helping with strategy, executing the strategy, oversee the training of their units. They are addressed as Major General Surname. They are a 2 star position. Their insignia is a crossed sword and baton with a star (UK) and two stars (US, Germany, Russia, France). Brigadier General (Brig.Gen) Brigadier General is a one-star general officer in the army. They command brigades (3,000 to 5,000 soldiers), assisting Major Generals in tactical planning and coordination of operations. They are addressed as Brigadier General Surname. Their insignia is one star (Russia, Germany, US,), two silver stars (France) and s crown and three stars (for the UK, stars are known as pips). Colonel (Col) Colonels command brigades of about (3,000 to 5,000 soldiers), they are senior staff officers who both provide leadership to their units which are sometimes specialised agencies, such as task forces. Colonels are addressed as Colonel Surname. A silver eagle (US), a pair of diamond pips under a crown (UK), three silver pips upon shoulder braid with silver braid (Germany), three gold pips on a shoulder board with golden braid (France and Russia). Major (Maj) Majors command units of around 120 officers. They are in charge of the training and welfare of their soldiers, administrative duties within the barracks and within their unit. They are the primary staff officer in brigades. They assist superior officers in planning and executing missions and tactical plans. The Major is referred to as Major Surname. Their insignia is 2 gold stars on a shoulder board with golden braid (Russia, France) 2 silver pips on a shoulder board with silver braid (Germany), a crown (UK), a golden oak leaf (US)

Captain (Cpt) Captains lead companies usually around 50-200 soldiers. They are often the second officer in a company working alongside a superior officer. They are responsible for operations in the field such as ensuring equipment is kept up to date and in good condition, offering logistic support, and managing their troops. Captains are addressed as Captain Surname. Their insignia is two silver bars (US), three pips (UK), three silver pips on a shoulder board with silver braid (Germany), three golden pips on a shoulder board with gold braid (France, Russia) Lieutenant (Lt) Lieutenants command a platoon (about 30 odd soldiers). They are in charge of overseeing the training and discipline of their soldiers along with ensuring their welfare. They will participate in missions under the command of a superior. Lieutenants are addressed as Lieutenant Surname. Their insignia is two golden stars on a shoulder board with gold braid (Russia, France), two silver pips on a shoulder board with silver braid (Germany), two pips (UK), one silver bar (US) Second Lieutenant (2/Lt) The Second Lieutenant leads smaller units, working with enlisted soldiers. They are crucial in the training of soldiers, they maintaining personnel records and manage the resources needed for a mission or the units welfare. They would be addressed in conversation as Lieutenant but referred to as Second Lieutenant in dispatches and in correspondence. Their insignia is one gold bar (US), one pip (UK), one silver pip on a shoulder board with silver braid (Germany), one gold pip on a shoulder board with gold braid (Russia, France)

Enlisted Men

Warrant Officer 1st Class (1/WO)This is the most senior non-commissioned rank. They focus on discipline, prisoners, ammunition supplies and various technical and non-combatant services. In the UK, they often hold the rank of Regimental Sergeant Majors (RSMs) and are appointed by the Secretary of State Defence while in the US, the Secretary of the Army appoints them. They are addressed as Mr/Ms/Mrs Surname or Chief. Their insignia is one silver bar and a black square (US), the royal coat of arms (UK), four silver pips on a shoulder board with silver braid (Germany), three gold chevrons and a gold star (France), two gold stars on a shoulder board with golden braid (Russia) Warrant Officer 2nd Class (2/WO) The Warrant Officer Second Class would do similar jobs as the WO1, but they handle the below regimental section. Warrant Officer Class 1 (WO1). WO2s can be referred to as Company Sergeant Majors (CSMs) or Squadron Sergeant Majors (SSMs) (depending on their unit). They take roles within training, discipline and aiding the Warrant Officer Class 1 (WO1). Addressed as CSMs/SSMs and as Mr./Mrs/Ms. Their insignia is one gold star on a shoulder board with gold braid (Russia), Three golden chevrons (France), three silver pips on a shoulder board with silver braid (Germany), crown (UK), silver bar with two squares (US). Sergeant (Sgt)The Sergeant are responsible for the soldiers under their command. They oversee their team, acting as mentors and supervisors to their soldiers. Sergeants are over a squad of 10 soldiers. They are responsible them, from performance, prepare them for combat and their needs. They are addressed as Sergeant Surname. Their insignia is three chevrons (US, UK), two silver pips on a shoulder board with silver pips (Germany), two golden chevrons (France) and three golden chevrons (Russia). Corporal (Cpl)Corporals lead small squads of soldiers, no more than . Corporals are in charge of the training of their soldiers and ensuring that they are up to standard. They handle all the paperwork for their squad such as records. Corporals will accompany their soldiers on missions, leading patrols and overseeing their soldiers in the field. They are usually responsible for large pieces of equipment. They are addressed as Corporal Surname. Their insignia two chevrons (US, UK), one silver pips with shoulder board with a silver braid (Germany), two gold chevron (France, Russia). Lance Corporal (L.Cpl)Lance Corporals help Corporals lead their teams, acting as their second in command. They are in charge of disciplining, mentoring and leading their squads. They are also in charge of large weapons. They are addressed as Lance Corporal Surname. Their insignia one golden chevron (Russia, France), none/one silver pip (Germany), one chevron (UK) and one chevron with crossed rifles (US) Private (Pte)Privates are the lowest rank in the army. They will have just come out of training with the basic skills of a soldier. Privates are given tasks by superior officers, must obey the orders given and are usually given the more hands-on tasks, such as maintenance of weapons and their camp. They are addressed as Private Surname. Their insignia is one chevron/none (US), no insignia (UK, France, Russia, Germany).

Non-Commissioned Officers vs Commissioned Officers

You may have often heard the term "non-commissioned officer" if you have ever watched any war media. The difference is that Commissioned Officers receive their rank via a formal document signed by a high-ranking official, such as the monarch or a political leader. The Commissioned Officers are usually Lieutenants, Colonels, Generals, Captains, Majors. They are responsible for giving orders and making decisions. Non-Commissioned Officers are promoted from the enlisted ranks, gaining their promotion on skills alone. They are in charge of discipline, training and carrying out orders. They are usually ranked among Corporals and Sergeants.

Jobs within the Army

No army is just made up of officers and their soldiers. An army is like a town on the move, there are hundreds of different tasks that must be undertaken to ensure the army is fed, transported, kept in line and kept equipped.

Medic: Medics are the first responders for wounded soldiers, they administer first aid, medication and medical care to the soldiers in their unit. Medics are usually NCOs.

Chaplain: Is a soldier with some religious or spiritual calling that administers last rites, confession, spiritual guidance and solace for soldiers. They will see to soldiers of all creeds and faiths.

Artillery Crew: The Artillery Crew handle the maintenance and inventory of artillery weapons and related equipment. NCOs with training in the handling of artillery.

Military Police: The Military Police are force within the army that keep soldiers in line, maintain order and arrest any soldier caught doing a crime on the job. Always NCOs.

Intelligence: This is the information post, which involves fact gathering, recording and study of information needed by the army to mobilise.

Quartermaster: The quartermaster manages the distribution and gathering of all the things needed for the army from uniforms to equipment for the soldier's packs. Usually NCOs.

Mess Officer: The Mess Officer oversees the Mess Hall, managing the staff as they cook and prepare the army's meals. The Mess Officer would also be in charge of budgeting, inventory, health and safety and providing meals timely. Usually an officer, Captains and Lieutenants.

Adjutant: Is an officer who acts as an assistance to a superior officer taking on secretarial duties such as paperwork and arranging their diary. Usually a Captain or a Major.

Combat Engineer: The Combat Engineer is in charge of maintaining and building fortifications. NCOs with specialised skills in the field.

Logistics: Logistic Specialists handle the supplies, equipment and arranging transportation. NCOs.

Armourer: The armourer is in charge of weapons and ammunition. They handle any repairs needed and see to the safe storing of these valuable items. NCOs.

Communications Specialist: These Specialists handle communications, the communication equipment and its maintenance. NCOs usually with previous experience or training.

Mechanics: Mechanics are in charge of the maintenance of vehicles and machinery. They handle repairs, do check ups, offer support in the field and ensure everything is in good shape. NCOs with training and skills in the area.

Equipment

The soldiers will not be going into any situation without equipment - at least, not at first. Equipment is like gold dust in the field, especially if a unit is within enemy territory or the supply chain cannot be relied upon. Soldiers may often turn to thievery in order to resupply themselves with ammunition, weapons, supplies and even boots. In WWII, the newly formed company the Special Air Service - the SAS - actually raided their allies for supplies.

The soldier would carry essential supplies when they are first deployed. These would include (may vary):

Flasks/Canteen: Or some sort of drinking container. A soldier will need to hydrate if they don't wish to die-dydrate on a long march. They may also carry water purification chemicals such as iodine.

First Aid Kits: All soldiers will carry the basics of a first aid kit. This would include bandages, gauze, burn ointment, tourniquet, pain relief (not the good stuff), scissors and tweezers.

Knife: It is always handy to have something to cut things with.

Gun Cleaning Tools: Soldiers will have the equipment to care for their weapons. An uncared for weapon is an invitation for death.

Ammunition: A soldier would carry ammunition with them.

Entrenching Equipment: Something to dig with, usually a collapsible shovel.

Rations: Soldiers may often carry some sort of food with them, usually of the preserved kind.

Some form of shelter: Soldiers may carry something to shelter themselves such as a sleeping bag, a tent, a blanket.

Signal Mirror: Soldiers carry signal mirrors to send visual signals to communicate with others.

Toiletries: Basic hygiene items.

Weaponry

Soldiers will not only just need equipment to survive on the field. Soldiers will carry all sorts of weapons on them. It was up to the soldier to care for the weapon and ensure it is up to scratch. Ammunition, of course, doesn’t grow on trees and nor do weapons. Weapons and ammunition like supply I mentioned above could often be “liberated” from the enemy or even unwitting allies. Every soldier will carry:

A rifle: This is the long-range weapon carried by almost all soldiers. They will use this in combat, especially if fighting from a fixed position.

A handgun or a pistol: Most soldiers will carry a secondary gun. These guns are useful in tight spaces or close combat.

Bayonet: A knife or blade that is attached to the rifle. This allows a soldier to stab the enemy with their rifle.

Combat Knife: A knife used in combat.

Mortar: This is a short-barrelled artillery piece. It is used to fire shells at steep angles.

Hand Grenades: These are handheld explosives carried by soldiers. They have a delayed fuse, meaning that they are useful as both a long-range weapon and as a close-range weapon – one could leave one behind as a present. They are typically activated by pulling the pin, flinging it away from the body, toward the enemy and denoted.

Uniforms

Above in rankings, we went through the insignia which is the symbols on one's uniform that denotes your rank and place in the hierarchy of things. Soldiers will be inspected every day to ensure their uniforms are up to standard and will face the wrath of superiors if their uniforms are unkempt and their appearance not up to the mark. Every private learns how to shine their own boots, sort out their own uniforms and are responsible for looking their best. There are different kinds of uniform for a soldier.

Casual Uniform: This uniform is comprised of a more casual uniform, made up of a tunic/shirt, trousers and boots. Certain units will wear caps and berets denoting their unit and rank as well. Combat Uniform: This is worn on the field. It will often reflect the climate the soldier is going into, so will be light and heavy depending on the weather. A soldier would wear a combat jacket, trousers, wear a helmet, wear their identification tags/dog tags. These would be in mute colours, usually khaki or camouflage. Service Dress Uniform: This is worn during official duties and formal events. It comprises of a dress shirt, tie, peaked cap/beret, creased trousers and a jacket with their insignia, unit symbols and medals. Dress Uniform: This is worn during very formal ceremonies. A formal jacket pinned with ribbons, embroidered insignia and the medals of their achievements and commendations, creased trousers, dress shirt and tie, polished shoes and a formal hat cap/beret.

Life of a soldier (On Base and in the Field)

Soldiers on active duty will be expected to manage many tasks, not just firing at the enemy or storming enemy beaches. Soldiers are expected to fulfil maintenance work, defence, offence, administrative duties (if needed), engineering and communications.

On Base: A soldier’s day will be planned right down to the second. They will get up at a certain time, have an allotted time to get ready and tidy up their bunk, report to various drills and participate and have a list of duties to undertake within the day. These duties involve maintenance on base, helping with any office work, guarding and patrolling, doing specialised tasks such as helping in the infirmary. Most privates will do the grunt work, anything hands on or labour intensive while officers will see to training soldiers or paperwork or supply management.

In the Field: The life of a soldier in the field wasn’t as regimented as on base – it can’t be, since most soldiers won’t have the exact same day especially in battle or marching from place to place. But every soldier will have certain duties to undertake. Of course, fighting will be included, some soldiers would take it in shifts to man a fixed position or to engage the enemy or to participate in missions into new or enemy territory. Soldiers would take their place “out on the line”, patrolling the edges of their camp to ensure they can’t be crept up on. Soldiers will erect camp every night they aren’t marching which includes the putting up of tents, digging of latrine pits, building fortifications. Soldiers not out on the line or engaging the enemy will spend their time at camp either helping in the mess hall, in the infirmary or keeping the camp ship-shape. Soldiers may often be sent out to “forage” (*cough, cough* steal) whatever they need such as food.

The Realities of the Army

Good vs Evil. Yes, sometimes the army are the heroes. But in reality, war is a grey area. No army in the world is wholly bad or innocent. Every single army on earth has committed war crimes and every army has had to make decisions which some would find morally reprehensible. The point is that painting an army as the good guys or the bad guys in your narrative can’t work because it isn’t realistic. You can of course highlight these issues by the actions of a few soldiers while still retaining the antagonists and the heroes. You can of course pit the ideals of both sides in a war together, to firmly push your reader toward the good guys vs the bad guys. But the reality is a simple one: all armies kill, all armies steal and all armies destroy.

Civilian vs Soldier: The Reality Civilians suffer at the hands of their own army as well as the enemy. Civilians often had to deal with soldiers taking their crops, livestock and overtaking their homes in searches for food, shelter and resources. Enemy civilians would also put up with pillaging, looting and in some cases death, assault and sexual abuse. It is of course against protocol to harm civilians but things do happen in theatres of war.

The Army vs the Soldier

While the army expects a lot out of the soldier as an induvial, the army can often fall short of their duties to that soldier. This can be unintentional, for example supplies can get lost or stolen. But there are instances where soldiers and their needs are sacrificed for the greater good. They maybe passed over for supplies or reinforcements for another unit. They may be placed in difficult circumstances without any hope of relief. They may not have the equipment needed to fight their battle or stay alive. Sometimes, armies even shot their own soldiers for insubordination, ex. In WW1, many soldiers on all sides were shot by their own for “cowardice” – this may have been the case, but some cases involved soldiers who were suffering from PTSD.

Choice vs Obligation vs Threat Why do soldiers fight? What makes somebody join the army? Sometimes it is the search of opportunity, of a place, of rank and a purpose. But sometimes, going to war isn’t the choice of the soldier. Drafts and conscription make military service compulsory for certain age groups and genders. In peacetime, soldiers are enlisted voluntarily in most armies while some countries have compulsory service time even in times of peace. In some wars, criminals in prison were offered the chance to serve in the war as penance for their crimes. There are of course instances when one is threatened or forced into an armed force.

The Effects of War on the Soldier War changes people. The things soldiers see and have to do within war and training will inevitably change them as people. Sometimes, the change is positive, the army has been named by many people as the thing that straightened them out and have them structure. The army sometimes allows soldiers to travel and gain access to opportunities and education that they may never have had access to before. But undeniably, war has negatives effects on soldiers and civilians. Soldiers may suffer from PTSD, depression, suicidal thoughts and feel a disconnect between themselves and their old lives. Soldiers often find it hard to return to their life after the war, especially in radically different settings with people who don’t understand what they have been through. This can lead to substance abuse issues, alcoholism, problems with the law and troubles within relationships among family and romantic partners. Soldiers of course can get injuries while in war or even in training. Loss of limbs, damage to the brain and other organs, broken bones, burns, shrapnel injuries and of course gunshot wounds are all common. Soldiers often get ill while in the field, such illnesses including typhoid, hypothermia, trench foot, dysentery, malaria, pneumonia etc. These are caused by the close living quarters and the often-sub-standard living conditions. Soldiers would often be at risk for pests such as lice and fleas because of their living conditions. Soldiers may often face problems with nutrition, might suffer from dehydration and starvation especially if supplies are scarce.

The Geneva Convention

Your world may not include the Geneva Convention, may pre-date the Geneva Convention or Geneva may not be a place within your WIP, but I include this here so you might have a fair idea about the “rules” of modern warfare. This is just a brief version.

Medical personnel are not to be specifically targeted in operations.

Medical facilities and equipment is not be targeted in operations

Any wounded soldiers or civilians are to be treated, despite allegiance.

Prisoners cannot be tortured or harmed in any way

Prisoners must be fed, well-kept and treated for any injury

Prisoners are not under obligation to tell their captors anything but their name, rank and other personal information – this is so they can be recorded and all information must be recorded and sent to the captured soldier's officers

Prisoners must be allowed to communicate with family and friends.

Prisoners have the right to receive any packages or mail.

Prisoners have the right to access the services of the Red Cross, who cannot be prevented from visiting and inspecting them

Prisoners who are seriously wounded or ill must be released

Any religious figures are to be captured and released as soon as possible

Soldiers cannot take hostages, they cannot pillage, they cannot take slaves.

Soldiers must abstain from humiliating and degrading any captured soldiers or civilians.

Reprisals against civilians and other soldiers are forbidden.

Group punishment is not permitted (Yes, that one teacher did break the Geneva Convention)

Prisoners can be tried by their captors, but they are entitled to a fair trial.

All POWs shall be released at the end of conflict

At sea, hospital ships cannot engage in war.

Any shipwrecked crew on a ship must be rescued despite allegiance.

Children, pregnant women, mothers with very young children, the elderly, the sick and wounded who are imprisoned for a long time, must be released as soon as possible.

Surrendering soldiers, civilians and civilians who participate in acts against an army cannot be harmed and must be taken alive.

The use of weapons to cause suffering, say a non-fatal wound or mutilation is prohibited.

It outlaws indiscriminate attacks on civilian populations and destruction of food, water and other materials needed for survival.

The destruction of resources that could affect the population such as poisoning the water supply is not permitted.

Certain infrastructure cannot be destroyed or targeted. This includes dams and nuclear stations. Cultural landmarks and religious landmarks are also to be spared.

Recruitment of children into the armed forces is prohibited.

The use of certain symbols such as the Red Cross in order to deceive the enemy is prohibited.

Civilians who do not take part in combat are to be treated respectfully. They are protected from violence from soldiers.

Children and vulnerable people are top-priority to be evacuated to safe havens as soon as possible. All efforts will be made to reunite them with family.

The targeting of civilians and anything that sustains their well-being such as food sources is prohibited.

Military Terminology

This is by no means a full list but these are the most commonly used terms.

Boots on the ground – to physically be in a location

Inspection - a superior officer takes formal note of appearance, condition of living area and weapons.

Drill – a practise in various manoeuvres, marches, procedures

Pass - leave to have some free time, sometimes off base.

Off base - away from military barracks

Tour of duty – the period of time which an action is completed in.

Civvies – Civilian clothing

Detail - a specific task undertaken by a unit or soldier

Mess hall - dining facility

Latrine - toilet

Latrine duty - digging a Latrine pit or cleaning the facility

Flanking - Attacking an enemy formation from the sides

Envelopment - surrounding the enemy from multiple sides

Penetration - breaking past the enemy’s front lines

Reconnaissance by Fire - Firing at positions that may be occupied by the enemy to provoke them into returning fire (so you know where they are)

Ambush - Attacking from concealed position

Retreat - go back the way you came (DO NOT COLLECT €200)

Feigned Retreat - Pretending to retreat and then attacking the enemy

Perimeter - boundary of fortified area

No Man's Land - the space between front lines

Contact line - where opposing sides meet to fight

Supply line - the route the supplies get from base to the field.

Front line - the furthest out troops are place on the line, this is where the most intense fighting happens

Barracks - sleeping quarters in base

Foxhole - a dug position in the ground

Combatant: A person actively engaged in fighting.

Non-combatant: A person not engaged in a conflict.

Civilian: Somebody who is not a member of any military unit.

Militia: Civilians who are armed and trained to fight.

Guerrilla: Small, independent units that takes up arms against an armed force. Very effective.

Saboteur: Somebody who deliberately sabotages equipment and supplies.

Spy: Somebody who gathers information about the enemy.

Operative: A soldier who carries out a specific task.

Mercenary: A soldier for hire

Contractor: A person or a group of people who are hired to provide advice, services and additional support to the army and their operations.

Conscription: Compulsory enlistment.

Enlistment: Joining the army.

Exercise: Simulated military practises or manoeuvres for training.

War game: Simulated war fare for training.

Mission: The operation.

Objective/Target: The objective of the mission.

Campaign: Multiple operations.

Down Range – being within the combat zone

In-Country – being within in a war zone

Quarters – can mean one of two things either it is a medic's order to stay in the camp or barracks or military family housing.

Squared away - to fix

Siege: Where one army sits outside a fortified town or position and tries to claim it.

Convoy: A large group of vehicles such as trucks, jeeps and tanks travel together. It is harder to target more than one vehicle.

Escort: More vehicles and soldiers who accompany a convoy.

Strike/Assault: Attacking the enemy.

Counterattack: An attack to respond to a previous attack

Rear: Behind the formation

Front: Before the formation.

Line: The formation.

Column: The formation in a line.

Formation: The arrangement of soldiers

Deployment: Soldiers moving to a position.

Redeployment: Sending soldiers to another position.

Mobilization: Readying soldiers, their supplies and equipment for deployment.

Demobilization: The disbanding of soldiers after an operation.

Reserve: Soldiers and equipment held back. This is usually to conserve soldiers and supplies for emergencies or shortages.

Reinforcement: More soldiers and equipment sent to the soldiers on the line to bulster their efforts.

Casualty: Death, injury, missing.

KIA: Killed in action.

MIA: Missing in action.

Surrender: Yielding to the enemy.

Ceasefire: An agreement to cease hostilities.

Armistice: A temporary stay of fighting.

Battalion: A large unit of soldiers. Usually in the range of 300 upwards to 800 or so soldiers.

Regiment: A unit made up of several battalions.

Division: A military unit (10,000-20,000)

Corps: A unit, (20,000-50,000)

Theatre: The place where military operations are undertaken.

Engagement: A battle or a conflict with the enemy.

Manoeuvre: Planned movement.

Logistics: The planning of moving soldiers and equipment to soldiers.

Ordnance: Supplies.

Artillery: Large-calibre firearms.

Infantry: Soldiers who fight on foot.

Reconnaissance: Gaining information about the enemy and their positions.

Tactical: Planning and implementation the military strategies.

Strategic: Planning and directing strategies.

Operational: The following through of military operations.

Command/Control: The authority to direct military operations.

Communications: The passing of information between units, base and HQ.

HQ: Head Quarters

Intelligence: Information about the enemy

Counterintelligence: Preventing the enemy from gaining information about the army, such as the famous Operation Mincemeat.

Camouflage: The use of material or paint to hide oneself from one’s enemy.

Fortification: Defensive structure

Entrenchment: Digging trenches or foxholes.

Garrison: Military station.

Bivouac: A temporary camp, but this camp is without no cover. This means no tents or shelter.

Dog Tags - Metal identification tags worn by soldiers

Patrol: Soldiers will leave camp or their positions to walk within their boundaries

Raid: Attacking on the enemy’s position.

Zero Dark Thirty - Early as fuck, from 0100 hrs to sunrise.

Copy - I understand

Unit - can mean any organisation in the military

Platoon - a section within a company made up of 30-50 soldiers

Contact - Engaging with the enemy

Tactically Acquired - Stolen

Squad - a smaller faction of a company

CO - Commanding officer

XO - second in command

Hang Fire - wait for the next set of orders

Demilitarized Zone - a place that is no go for military equipment, weapons and soldiers

AWOL - Absent without leave

PT - Physical Training

Skivvies - ones undergarments

Active Duty - Full time duty in active service

As You Were - Go back doing whatever you were doing or standing how you were standing

BOLO - Be on the Lookout

CP - checkpoint

Bunk - Bed

Ruck - backpack

Smoked - physical punishment for an infraction.

Zone of Action - a specific part of the tactical area.

About face - a manoeuvre where a someone or a group turn to face the opposite direction.

POW - Prisoner of War

POW Camp - facility to house POWs

Halt - stop marching/moving

Present Arms - salute, typically by presenting one's weapon or raising the right hand to the forehead

Parade Rest - stand with one's feet shoulder-width apart, hands folded behind their back

Fall out - break formation

Fall in - get into formation

At ease - stand in a more relaxed position

Attention - stand upright, heels together, back straight, shoulders back, arms at the sides.

Books and Media I recommend

Band of Brothers (HBO, Limited Series)

Beyond Band of Brothers by Dick Winters

Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose

M*A*S*H

The Unwomanly Face of War by Svetlana Alexievich

Lady Death: The Memoirs of Stalin's Sniper by Lyudmila Pavlichenko

The Six Triple Eight

Some Desperate Glory: The First World War the Poets Knew by Max Egremont

Poems of the Great War 1914-18

Poems of the Great War by Wilfred Owen

Poems of the Great War by Siegfried Sassoon

Poems of the Great War by Robert Graves

Poems of the Great War by Rupert Brooke

Poems of the Great War by David Jones

SAS Rogue Heroes (BBC)

SAS: Rogue Heroes: The Authorised Wartime History by Ben MacIntyre

Saving Private Ryan

All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque

All Quiet on the Western Front

Private Peaceful by Michael Mupurgo

War Horse by Michael Mupurgo

Road to War by Valerie Wilding

The Trenches by Jim Elderidge

D-Day by Byran Perett

D-Day by Ben MacIntyre

Japan's Pacific War by Peter Williams

Operation Mincemeat by Ben MacIntyre

War Nurse by Sue Reid

Helmet for my Pillow by Robert Leckie

With the Old Breed by Eugene B Sledge

Hacksaw Ridge

D-Day Through German Eyes: How the Wehrmacht Lost France by Jonathan Trigg

Platoon

Britain’s Secret Defences: Civilian saboteurs, spies and assassins during the Second World War by Andrew Chatterton

If You're Reading This...: Last Letters from the Front Line by Sian Price

A Bridge Too Far

Firepower in Limited War by Robert Scales

Storm of Steel by Ernst Jünger

Dunkirk

The Things They Cannot Say: Stories Soldiers Won't Tell You About What They've Seen, Done or Failed to Do in War by Kevin Sites

1917

On Artillery by Bruce Gudmundsson

Letters From Iwo Jima

Das Boot

The Longest Day

Come and See

War Horse

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rippersz · 10 months ago

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𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore.

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you.

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety.

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed.

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby.

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while...

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh.

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh.

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to.

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience?

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because-

Because-

Wait.

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of…

“Fuck.”

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right.

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood.

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill.

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy.

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell.

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength.

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet.

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you.

Too late.

You were too late.

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead.

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage.

Too late.

You were too late.

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed.

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you.

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement.

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag.

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did.

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then-

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap.

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere.

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle.

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life.

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.”

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent.

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in.

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.”

The gun still didn’t move.

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?”

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures.

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth.

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.”

“How long since?”

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own.

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned.

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-”

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world.

“-we can’t just leave them-”

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window.

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone.

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-”

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?”

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told.

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade.

But she didn’t move.

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak.

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed.

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went.

“More like a rat.”

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you.

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot.

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest.

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked.

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched.

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?”

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off.

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude.

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact.

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming.

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers.

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-”

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return.

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view.

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep.

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun.

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word.

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you.

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass.

The grass.

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh.

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit.

How fucking lucky were you?

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance.

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that.

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger.

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead.

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches.

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her.

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms.

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall.

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps.

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority.

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline.

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck.

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up.

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.”

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group.

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself.

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway.

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue.

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.”

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were…

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?”

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?”

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?”

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body.

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider.

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors.

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you.

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes.

Red lips twitched.

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.”

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up.

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.”

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat.

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully.

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right.

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat.

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard.

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through.

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang.

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.”

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips.

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done.

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time?

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa.

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?”

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded.

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted.

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.”

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it.

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you.

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence.

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.”

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow.

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away.

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering.

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant.

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.”

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts.

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Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

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Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

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