Post by Russia - Ivan Braginsky on Oct 16, 2020 15:56:59 GMT -5
Kabul, Afghanistan
The air was crisp with oncoming dusk. The sun had begun to tip below the mountain tops, reflecting orange, reds, and yellows in a beautiful dance across the sky. Ivan would have found the view pleasant if not for the fact that he rarely enjoyed his visits here. He had nothing against Afghanistan himself. The man was pleasant enough, if not for his somewhat dysfunctional nature. No, the real issue was the American boy that forced his hand in this nation far too often. He would never forget the hundreds of lives lost during the mid-80s of the 20th Century, fighting off America’s monetary influence until forced to concede and leave. Ivan found slight retribution when America found himself in Afghanistan facing the same difficulties as him in the early 2000s. However, now, they were both here, attempting to patch enough coalitions together to control this strategic location. Both wanted the bridge between the Middle East and Asia, and even after decades of in-fighting, both struggled to take it.
He preferred the Front in Europe. While the lives lost there dramatically outpaced the lives lost in the Middle East, the fighting was far more to the point. Soldiers, tanks, and machines marching across land until clashing with the opposition’s army. The Middle East had areas of such land attacks, but for the most part, especially in places such as Afghanistan, it was a strategic chess of guerilla warfare. American soldiers, or a terrorisr, as Ivan considered them would pop from hiding and take out supply trains or local intelligent centers. Not that Ivan did not do the same, but he found it all rather annoying. They each had military bases on the outskirts of Kabul, but neither would attack one another directly. No, the attacks here were targeted and the real goal was gaining the support, or more so control, of the Afghanistan government, which occurred more in backroom discussions with government officials than on the field of battle.
For that reason, Ivan found himself here once more. The Afghanistan people were taking part of an “election” tomorrow to determine if they would join the United Allegiance, the Joint Pact, or remain neutral. While Ivan found elections to simply be a corrupt farce, Afghanistan had gotten tired of being pulled between America and Russia and demanded that his people make the choice. The results would have little impact on Russia’s decision to remain, but if they did go his way, it could shore up the needed support to push the American’s out. The Americans did like this little elections. Which is why Ivan planned to assist the Afghan people in making the right choice tomorrow.
He had already visited a quite a few polling locations earlier today, and he now walked down a busy marketplace in military uniform, attire he wore almost every day these days. The uniform had a similar look to his days as the Soviet Union, but with a crisper cut and finer darker fabric. He wore a cap and a red scarf around his neck. He walked alone, telling his men to remain at the base. The Afghan people tended to avoid Ivan, either because his presence intimidated them, or the Russian uniform was enough of a warning. They separated apart as he moved through the crowd with ease. America was here in Kabul. He knew before he could sense the boy, and while his boss would likely disapprove with him directly interacting with the American nation during such an important time, he found himself walking in the boy’s direction nonetheless.
It did not take long once to find the American, a five minute walk at most, venturing through the streets until reaching a café shop that the American appeared to have stopped at. He gave the boy a nod of recognition before walking towards him. “It is late for caffeine, America,” he stated.
The air was crisp with oncoming dusk. The sun had begun to tip below the mountain tops, reflecting orange, reds, and yellows in a beautiful dance across the sky. Ivan would have found the view pleasant if not for the fact that he rarely enjoyed his visits here. He had nothing against Afghanistan himself. The man was pleasant enough, if not for his somewhat dysfunctional nature. No, the real issue was the American boy that forced his hand in this nation far too often. He would never forget the hundreds of lives lost during the mid-80s of the 20th Century, fighting off America’s monetary influence until forced to concede and leave. Ivan found slight retribution when America found himself in Afghanistan facing the same difficulties as him in the early 2000s. However, now, they were both here, attempting to patch enough coalitions together to control this strategic location. Both wanted the bridge between the Middle East and Asia, and even after decades of in-fighting, both struggled to take it.
He preferred the Front in Europe. While the lives lost there dramatically outpaced the lives lost in the Middle East, the fighting was far more to the point. Soldiers, tanks, and machines marching across land until clashing with the opposition’s army. The Middle East had areas of such land attacks, but for the most part, especially in places such as Afghanistan, it was a strategic chess of guerilla warfare. American soldiers, or a terrorisr, as Ivan considered them would pop from hiding and take out supply trains or local intelligent centers. Not that Ivan did not do the same, but he found it all rather annoying. They each had military bases on the outskirts of Kabul, but neither would attack one another directly. No, the attacks here were targeted and the real goal was gaining the support, or more so control, of the Afghanistan government, which occurred more in backroom discussions with government officials than on the field of battle.
For that reason, Ivan found himself here once more. The Afghanistan people were taking part of an “election” tomorrow to determine if they would join the United Allegiance, the Joint Pact, or remain neutral. While Ivan found elections to simply be a corrupt farce, Afghanistan had gotten tired of being pulled between America and Russia and demanded that his people make the choice. The results would have little impact on Russia’s decision to remain, but if they did go his way, it could shore up the needed support to push the American’s out. The Americans did like this little elections. Which is why Ivan planned to assist the Afghan people in making the right choice tomorrow.
He had already visited a quite a few polling locations earlier today, and he now walked down a busy marketplace in military uniform, attire he wore almost every day these days. The uniform had a similar look to his days as the Soviet Union, but with a crisper cut and finer darker fabric. He wore a cap and a red scarf around his neck. He walked alone, telling his men to remain at the base. The Afghan people tended to avoid Ivan, either because his presence intimidated them, or the Russian uniform was enough of a warning. They separated apart as he moved through the crowd with ease. America was here in Kabul. He knew before he could sense the boy, and while his boss would likely disapprove with him directly interacting with the American nation during such an important time, he found himself walking in the boy’s direction nonetheless.
It did not take long once to find the American, a five minute walk at most, venturing through the streets until reaching a café shop that the American appeared to have stopped at. He gave the boy a nod of recognition before walking towards him. “It is late for caffeine, America,” he stated.
