_Hesh_

This Novel is based on the events of Battlefield's newest Title "Battlefield 2042".
All Rights and Credits go to Battlefield's Developers. 



A DECADE OF CHAOS
2031

Ten years is all it took to bring the world to the brink. Rising sea levels, collapsing economies, broken alliances, and the headlines keep rolling in...

October 9th, 2033.
“Hurricane Zeta. The world's first category 6 storm.”

Jan 11th, 2034.
“Global food, fuel shortages spark Second Great Depression.”

August 8th, 2035.
"European Union officially disbands following Germany’s collapse.”


THE NEW NORMAL
2037.

Humanity adapts to the new normal. Revolutions in energy, desert irrigation, hydraulic levees, and sea walls save coastal cities, reclaim farmland, and rebuild supply chains. Hope of finding stability leads to some nations re-opening their borders.

However, with no way to repatriate 1.2 billion people, No-Pats become a permanent fixture in all economic, military, and social policy making. Many No-Pats are still distrustful of the governments that exiled them and refuse calls to reassimilate. No-Pat leaders emerge, inspiring a new identity unbound to former nationality, drawing a line in the sand between the Old World and The New Normal. #WeAreNoPats becomes a rallying cry.

Amidst the world rebuilding, sparks of friction erupt between the US and Russia, as the last two superpowers both vie for control of this fast-changing world.

An Uncertain Future

When you're fleeing a war zone with a gunshot wound and somebody offers you a ride, you don't ask where they're headed. That's how I ended up stranded at Russia's "Gas Station at The End of the World," an oil rig in Antarctica.


For years, No-Pats across the globe have relied on Russia for their oil but it's clear, things are changing. Russia and America seem to be at each other's throats. Just as we arrived, Russia decided to cut off oil to No-Pats. The price to turn the spigot back on is singular allegiance to Russia. A price Oz is unwilling to pay.


"It's practically a hostage situation," says Specialist Constantin Anghel, whose own vessel has been stuck here for three weeks. "War is coming, my friend, and everybody knows it."


His words are prescient. Not a minute later, Klaxons burst to life as an American destroyer appears on the horizon...


"The MFS-04 Exodus arrives, plenty armed."


By '39, with rising sea levels, nations finally understood to leave Antarctica's ice alone. That is, except Russia, who secretly violated an international treaty protecting the continent from drilling. A remote science facility quietly became a refining operation responsible for 4000 barrels of crude daily. "It's only a matter of time until America comes for this place," whistles Anghel, "and not to save the penguins."


Over time, more No-Pat vessels wind up stranded here, debating the offer of fuel for fealty. The cold and isolation are crippling. Many take the bargain.


"Shortsighted. No-Pats shouldn't choose sides," grunts Constantin, "Think of Poland in World War 1. Their country hadn't been on a map for 150 years - the Polish Legion did whatever - for whomever- to make sure that when the dust settled, they had a country again. Sometimes war is the only way home."


That last line. I've heard those words before, from Oz. It's a rallying cry. But this isn't a few thousand fighting for a flag, this is 1.2 billion with little to unite them. No-Pats aren't the Polish, they're a powder keg.


"As Anghel predicted, war reached Queen Maud Land by year's end."


After the Klaxons start, the sound of two Starbursts rattle the ice shelves from the shore. I understand enough Russian now to catch two words: "Cowboys" and "War."


The American ship returns a warning shot from its cannon as a confident voice blaring from the ship's radio orders the Russians to stand down. That's when I notice the ship is flying the No-Pat emblem, not Old Glory. I'd later learn Oz had sent in his most trusted captain to extract the stranded No-Pats that Russia was trying to coerce.


I race to be among the refugees boarding the ship, designated MFS-04 Exodus, with Anghel's words echoing in my ears. There's a fight coming that I want nothing to do with, and yet, here I am on a warship. Perhaps Oz is right. War is the only way home.


The Only Way Home