September 12th, 1983
Eastern Delos
Approximately 75 miles from Hange
310th Armored Battalion
Golf Company
“Blood & Brass”
One Hundred and Eighty Three days, six hundred fifty shells, and five hundred eighty-four miles later…
“Goliath-1, this is Hitman Actual. What’s your unit’s ETA to the rally point?” Connor’s headset hissed into his ear over the rumble of the vehicle’s engine. After scratching the light brown stubble that adorned his lower jaw, he tapped the button on the side of his helmet, switching the channels from internal to radio. “Goliath-1 to Hitman Actual, approximately 1 to 2 hours out, how copy? Over.”
A short delay followed: “Solid Copy, Goliath-1. Hitman out.”
“Sheesh, when are they going to get rid of the Goliath dash one shit? We’re the last tank in the company, for christ’s sake,” Connor heard a remark from the hull below.
“No kidding,” he chuckled.
“Fuck, Grinston, of all the problems we’ve faced, the dash one in our callsign is what’s making you bitch,” the woman in the gunner’s position halfheartedly snickered.
“Listen, Wade, I bitch about the fixable shit!” remarked the man in the driver’s seat. His light complexion, much like Connor’s, glowed in the white compartment lighting.
“Please don’t kill each other just yet; we’re still shorthanded.” Connor sighed, bringing his eyes back to the periscopes that adorned his hatch. A deserted freeway lay ahead of the vehicle as it rumbled down the asphalt with derelict cars littering the shoulders on either side. Their husks were charred black from a raging inferno long since past. Thick forests of pines stretched from end to end along the right side of the road with the occasional patch of open grass. A pair of moons could be seen faintly on the edge of the horizon even with the sun high above the sky.
“Gods shit, you think they made it out?” Wade muttered. Connor felt the turret slew slightly side to side as the woman used her gunner’s optics.
“They’re probably fine,” Connor gritted his teeth at seeing pockmarks and bullet holes adorning the metal hulks.
“Probably trying to flee the city…” Grinston sighed and took a swig of a canteen under his seat, “Yet here we are, driving towards it.”
“Hell, if there’s a chance that a unit is reorganizing there, I’ll take it,” Connor stared blankly into his viewports, watching the white crests of waves crash against the sandy beaches to their left.
“If there’s hot food involved, I wouldn’t mind. I’m fucking starving!” Wade groaned as she rubbed her slim midsection. Connor found his stomach grumbling at the mention of food.
“Wait, don’t you have- hold on, there’s a car in the way,” Grinston cut his thought short as he took his foot off the accelerator. The Patton slowed to a crawl with its engine quieting to a low rumble.
Connor observed the derelict rear-on minivan for a moment. Its windows were shattered and the interior was torn asunder. A faded baby on board sticker adorned its trunk door.
Connor shook his head, “Run it over and push on.”
The Patton’s engine revved up, and the tank sallied forward. Its tracks ate up the asphalt as it gained speed.
“Hang on back there!” Grinston smirked as he gunned the throttle. Fifty tons of steel smashed into the dilapidated husk of the commuter car, the initial impact causing it to slide along the road a few feet before the tank’s tracks caught a hold.
Connor braced as the vehicle attempted to climb the minivan and soon, the comparatively smaller vehicle gave way under its mass. A dull scraping sound echoed throughout the fighting compartment.
The Patton suddenly surged forward as it cleared the now flattened hulk of the Minivan.
“Fuck yeah! We gotta do that more often!” Grinston pumped his fist, grinning.
“With our fuel, I’d hard pass on that.” Wade shook her head, rubbing her eyes with dark circles forming under them, “What were you going to say to me earlier?”
Grinston sat silently with the thrum of the Patton’s twin diesel engine reverberating through the compartment. “Oh yeah, don’t you still have that trail bar in your flak from that gas station yesterday?”
Wade’s light-green eyes lit up as she frantically started patting her flak jacket’s pouches. Soon enough, her hands settled on one of the front-mounted ammo pouches, slightly bulging from something that wasn’t a magazine.
“Aww fuck yeah!” she muttered, pulling a small, brightly wrapped candy bar from her pouch.
“How’s our gas looking?” Connor glanced down.
Grinston tapped the fuel gauge next to his arm, “A third of a tank. How’s our ammo?”
Connor looked at the empty loader’s position; the ammunition rack beside it was nearly full, shy one round.
“Grinston, how many shells have we got near you?”
The man swiveled back for a moment. “We got one down here, smoke round.”
“Gods fuck…” Connor mumbled under his breath.
“Hell, with a couple thousand rounds for our MGs, we’d make a half-decent pillbox.” Wade snickered, still devouring the chocolate confection.
“If we don’t get more fuel soon, we’re going to be a fucking pillbox,” Grinston chuckled.
“Hey Connor, weren’t we supposed to get fuel in Moro?” Wade yawned, once again rubbing her eyes.
Connor swallowed hard, “Yeah, but there wasn’t anyone left alive in Moro to give us gas.”
“Oh yeeah…” The woman yawned again, taking a moment to tilt her tanker helmet back and scratch her messy auburn hair, haphazardly fashioned into a bun.
“Next time we stop, you gotta get some sleep.” Grinston called back.
“Fuck, I’d sleep if I could.” Wade crumpled up her candy bar’s wrapper and stuffed it back into her mag pouch.
“Well, try to get some next time, alright?” Connor leaned down from his position, patting Wade on the back.
“Got it, got it.” Wade shook her head and sighed.
A hiss followed by a burst of static ripped through Connor’s headset for a moment, causing the man to tear off his helmet, “Agh, fuck!”
“What the fuck was that?!” Grinston winced, taking one of his earmuffs off. The rumble of the Patton’s engine filled the fighting compartment with the lack of hearing protection.
“Radio. Might be that civilian station,” Wade didn’t miss a beat. Connor redonned his helmet and swiveled around to the two small radios behind him.
“Tune it to 170ish,” Wade called back. Connor took his gloved hand to the frequency knob and started to twist it back and forth, the well-weathered device making a squeaking sound with each turn.
“Today's- we- ther-,” A faint hiss started through the radio as Connor continued to mess with the knob.
“-Is going to be in the high seventies in the Krovo Region; more news to follow on that later…” an inaudible voice echoed from the machine.
“Hey, turn that shit up. I could use some news that for once isn’t from a random grunt in a smoke pit.” Grinston cheered.
“Alright, but eyes on the road, yeah?” Connor flipped the channel switch, pushing the audio through the crew’s headsets.
“In today’s report, our brave soldiers of the Defense Forces are holding strong against the Eastern Menace! The war is going well with victories across the Moro Region in both the skies and across the land.” the radio caster chirped enthusiastically.
‘Victories, huh.’ Connor thought to himself. Images of a Patton’s crew ablaze, trying to clamber out of the inferno that once was their tank, flashed across his mind.
“Hah, victories across the skies, huh? Haven’t seen one of our planes in months.” Wade chuckled and shook her head. Connor climbed back into his position and resumed monitoring his vision blocks.
“Today marks the ninety-third day since the Eastern Alliance violated our humble nation’s neutrality, but worry not! Top defense analysts predict the complete defeat of our foe within the year as…” The radio continued to drone on.
“...In other world news, diplomatic talks between the Western Sect and Ambassador Vaun have commenced over the Kingdom’s application to join the mutual security coalition...”
Connor fought the urge to switch the radio off as more abandoned civilian vehicles lining the coastal highway’s shoulders came into view; an occasional charred corpse was seen sitting behind their wheels.
“God damn,” Grinston remarked as they passed what was left of a Delosian Defense Force’s Humvee, “Those Eastern dogs didn’t pull any punches, did they?”
“Doesn’t seem like they did…” Wade gritted her teeth. “Bastards….”
“Keep your eyes open, guys; we’re still behind their lines.” Connor remarked as he scanned the area from his position.
“Alright, alright,” Grinston sighed.
*
“Eyes up, guys, we got some wrecks coming up. Looks like some of ours,” Connor grumbled. Ahead of the tank rested a myriad of burnt-out vehicles, some military, others civilian in origin.
Disfigured corpses lay strewn across the pavement in heaps and some burned to an unrecognizable crisp. The Patton came to a slow crawl as it approached the still flaming wrecks; a trio of humvees and troop trucks with a pair of friendly tanks greeted them first. Connor strained his eyes as he scanned the environment for any sign of the enemy; a Euk footsoldier holding an RPG, lay splayed out across the pavement ahead in a dried pool of blood.
“Hostile tank front!” Wade screamed, slewing the turret slightly to the right.
Connor’s heart jumped, the dull thumping filling his ears as he searched for the vehicle amongst the carnage of gutted hulks.
An all too familiar dark green behemoth sat motionless in the back of the pileup; its rounded turret and well-angled upper hull caught his eye.
‘Sabot is in the breech,’ the thought flashed across his mind.
“Gun laid!” Wade barked, her finger curled around the triggers at her station.
Connor’s eyes scoured the enemy vehicle’s exterior, which was covered in small, reactive armor bricks, “Send it!”
“On the way!” Wade hollered. The gun breech jumped back in its mount, spitting a still smoking brass case into the basket below. The tank shook and recoiled slightly; a thunderclap resonated through the hull.
Smoke and dust filled Connor’s view from his vision blocks; the sabot round slammed into the motionless enemy tank within a fraction of a second. The tungsten-cored dart smashed into the vehicle’s turret, shearing away steel and paint chips as it dug into the armor. Steel rended and gave way as the shell burrowed through its outer layer, throwing shards and shrapnel outwards. A shrill tore through the air when the round shattered upon contact with the enemy vehicle’s composite armor, the dart compressing and disintegrating after slamming into the denser material.
“Reload!” Wade swiveled back, shouting.
Connor bolted from his seat to the other side of the turret. Pain shot through his arm as he slammed into the turret wall at the abrupt movement, though it didn’t slow him in the slightest.
Hurriedly, he snatched up the forty-pound projectile and spun around to position it behind the agape breech waiting for another shell. Seating the front of the Sabot round on its lip, he slammed it forward into the slot with a closed fist as the breech locked shut.
“Sabot Up!” Connor scrambled back into his seat, the smoke finally clearing his visibility from the last shot. The man’s eyes caught sight of something, causing him to once over the stationary enemy vehicle ahead of him.
“Hold fire!” He screamed. Wade’s head whipped back. “What!?”
“It’s dead! Look at its mantlet.” Connor’s shoulders drooped, and he leaned back in his chair. Wade’s eyes returned to her scope, and she sat silently at her position for an uncomfortable moment.
The T-80’s muzzle was depressed a few inches looking towards the ground with a single hole perforating its gun mantlet just under the barrel. A thin wisp of black smoke leaked from the perforation, signaling a penetrating hit.
“It can’t be dead! We gotta hit it again!” Wade slammed her fist against the side of the turret. Connor sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling. “Hit it with the coax.”
Wade depressed the trigger on the coaxial machine gun, the weapon buckling against its mount on the other side of the breech, spitting spent shells into a small basket.
Sparks peppered the immobile enemy tank, which still sat silently; the quick burst garnered no response from the T-80.
“Well fuck…” Wade threw herself into her seat.
“I had my balls in my throat right there.” Grinston stretched.
“…There goes a perfectly good shell.” groaned Wade, throwing her arms up in frustration.
Connor rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Let’s get a move on.“
“Ok.” Grinston tapped the accelerator, the Patton lurching forward soon after.
Clearing the wreckage, a pair of hulking derelict vehicles on the shoulders of the highway came into view. “Pull forward a few meters and stop; we got some friendly wrecks ahead that could have some stash.” Connor’s lips pursed into a small smile.
Two Kingdom of Delo National Army tanks sat on either shoulder up ahead, most likely knocked out while fighting the T-80. One was an older M48A5 whose olive green paint was charred and blackened. The other was an identical M60A1 Patton and much like the T-80, had its barrel depressed towards the pavement.
Slowly, Connor unlatched his cupola hatch and popped his head out. The cold ocean breeze hit his face like a wall. Glancing up, he basked in the sun’s warmth for a few moments before refocusing on the task.
“Weather feels nice at least.” He remarked. The intercom on his helmet made it unnecessary to shout.
“Hold on, lemme get up there.” Wade grunted. The loader’s hatch flew open shortly after, her head popping out.
The Patton came to a slow halt alongside its fallen counterparts.
“Fuck…” Wade remarked aloud at the sight of the M48: A corpse laid sprawled out over the commander’s cupola, with their features disfigured from the charring that covered them. Their skin- or what was left of it- was stained jet black with their uniform fused in patches to their mutilated form.
“Must have been a cook-off…” Wade grumbled as Connor pulled his legs up from his cupola and onto the roof, grabbing the pintle-mounted 50 cal’s grips for support. The Colt 45 strapped to his hip was quickly pulled free from its holster.
“We should be able to salvage something off the bustle rack, though.” Connor slid off the front of the turret and onto the hull roof. Using the bore evacuator as support with the word “NOMAD” painted across it, he jumped down. His knees screamed at him from the impact.
“I gotta stop doing that…” He winced before straightening up. The knocked-out M60A1 sat ahead of him. The turret was pointed at the destroyed T-80, though its gun was also depressed downwards.
A pair of entry holes greeted Connor as he walked to the front of the derelict vehicle. One on the gunner’s side of the turret and another clean through the lower front plate of the hull.
“Hey, Bossman! Found some rations!” A familiar woman's voice cut through his helmet’s headset.
Connor wheeled around to see Wade holding a box above her head atop the M48’s engine deck.
“Good find!” Connor flashed a thumbs up before finding a foothold atop one of the Patton’s tow handles and pulled himself onto the hull. The metal felt cold to the touch even through his gloves as he ascended.
“Up we go.” He grunted as he clambered over the gun mantlet and onto the roof.
“Hatches seem intact.” Connor grabbed ahold of the loader’s hatch handle and pulled. With a creak, the heavy metal door slowly opened.
The business end of a Colt 45 warmly greeted him.
“Fuck!” Connor stumbled back, falling on his rear just as the weapon discharged. A gloved hand grabbed onto the lip of the hatch, its owner soon appearing behind it as they clambered up and out of the vehicle, still brandishing the 45.
Connor leveled his sidearm towards the person wearing KDNA tank fatigues, lining up his sight posts. The world slowed to a crawl as he pulled the hammer back and set to applying pressure to the trigger.
“Wait! Wait! Wait! My bad!” the tanker raised her hands above her head. Connor’s death grip on his sidearm loosened, and he let the muzzle doop.
“Hey! Same side bitch!” Wade shook her fist angrily nearby from atop the charred M48. The lone tanker swiveled around towards Wade.
“What!? I thought he was a dirty Euk!”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Does he look like a dirty Euk?!” Wade hopped down from the destroyed tank and strode over.
“Well, in the moment-”
“Okay!... Okay. Calm it down.” huffed Connor, getting to his feet. Wade pouted, nearly mid-breath in slinging another insult.
“So, what’s your name?” Connor turned back towards the tanker, still leaning out of the hatch, now noticing the dried blood that dotted her uniform.
“Private Second Class Elizabeth Brooke, 25th Logistics, 2nd Bat, Charlie Company- or what’s left of it…” The woman started to trail off towards the end of her sentence.
‘What’s left of it?’ the thought trailed across Connor’s mind.
“Wait, where the heck are you guys from?” Brooke added, breaking Connor’s train of thought. Grinston quietly poked his head out of their tank’s commander’s cupola.
“We’re from Yela up north.” Wade answered.
“How’s it going up there?”
“We’re the only tank in our Battalion.” Connor sighed with a tinge of pain.
“Fuck…” Brooke exhaled.
“You alone in there?” Connor tapped the roof of the tank with the butt of his sidearm.
Brooke’s expression flattened, “Y-Yeah, I’m all that’s left.”
“....Fucking hell.” Wade muttered from below, placing her hands on her hips.
“Come on.” Connor extended a hand.
“Thanks.” Brooke took hold and pulled herself out onto the turret, her legs hanging over the side.
Connor cleared his throat, “So what happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”
Brooke took a few deep breaths for a moment. “We got mobilized to move to the front as a stop-gap maybe a week ago. We moved out and linked up with the 40th Armored bat...”
With pain in her eyes, she continued. “Our company was ordered to provide route security for the evacuation of Hange. Their enemy air cover had other plans. They bombed the columns trying to leave the town, probably thinking they were military. Within the hour, they picked apart and shattered our perimeter with an armored spearhead a few miles south of here, and my tank was tasked with escorting out one of the last convoys…. “
“That’s… That's enough. Have you had anything to eat or drink?” Connor held up a hand, his heart wrenching hard as tears began to form in the corners of the woman’s eyes.
“Sounds a lot like what happened with Golf Company.” Wade shook her head for a moment and sighed.
Brooke snapped out of her distant stare, “Wait, who are you guys anyway?”
“310th Armored, Golf Company.” Wade beat Connor.
“Wait, if the National Guard is here, then we-" Brooke’s expression lit up for a moment before Connor spoke up.
“We’re the only combat operational tank left in 310th.”
“Wait, what about the major offensive I keep hearing about?” Brooke stammered. a look of uncertainty gripped her face. Wade scoffed, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pocket.
“If you heard it over the civil net, it’s probably bullshit that they’re feeding the folks. Next, they’re going to tell us that we only have one moon or something…” Wade cradled a cigarette in her gloved hands to shield it from the wind while she attempted to light it.
“Never heard anything about a major offensive for the past two months.” Connor shook his head.
“They wouldn’t lie to us like that- the king doesn’t-” Brooke placed her face in her hands, sobbing atop the destroyed tank.
“No point weepin’ on that now. We’re still living at the moment, and I’d like to keep it this way. Hop with us.” continued Connor, gesturing to their tank.
“I- I- uh…” the woman struggled to formulate a sentence.
“Either you die here waiting, or you die with your fuckin boots on, come on.” Wade waved towards her.
Without a word, Brooke slid off of her battered and derelict tank. Hesitation gripped the woman as she carefully jumped down. She glanced back at her old steel coffin before looking to her new one. Grinston reached over the side of the turret, “Come on.”
*
Connor’s boots met the rubber-coated floor of the derelict M60 with a wet squelch after clambering in through the loader’s hatch. The man strained his eyes in the steel coffin’s lifeless crew compartment. Looking down, a dark maroon liquid pooled at his feet. A few bits of light from the shell holes shined into the space, providing a semblance of light.
Connor pushed the grease-covered cloth he had brought closer to his mouth to mask the smell of decay and rot. The commander’s torso sat in his lap across from Connor with the gunner’s arm resting beneath the gun breech; the man sat hunched over in his seat, his eyes still on his periscope.
Chunks of rotting meat littered the space around the turret basket, the flies just now getting to them from the outside.
Peering down into the hull, the driver, or what was left of him, laid splayed back in his seat. The man’s head and upper sternum could not be seen amongst the carnage on the vehicle’s floor. His arms lay limp at his sides, still strapped into his harness with a glint of light from the penetrating hit above his shoulders.
“Ok, Connor, find anything of use…” he told himself as he glanced around.
Spent brass lay strewn about the turret; at least a dozen 105mm casings rested on the floor behind the breach.
Turning to the ready rack, Connor came face to face with a trio of small polaroids taped up against the side of the turret.
“...You came here for a reason, huh...” Connor sighed as he pilfered the ready rack of unfired shells…
*
1 Hour Later…
“Not a bad haul.” Wade remarked, leaning back in her seat. “Nearly half-filled all of our racks, a thousand or so more rounds for our MGs- two of these puppies.” she patted the buttstock CAR-15 rifle, which now sat snuggly against her leg.
“And…” she continued, “A fair bit of gas, food, water, and spare parts with more barrels for our Pig.”
“We’re less than five miles out, eyes up.” Connor sighed, scratching the stubble on his chin.
“Goliath-1, this is Hitman-1 Actual; what’s your unit’s ETA to the RP?” buzzed the radio in the back of the compartment. Connor toggled his headset. “Goliath-1 to Hitman-1 Actual, we’re less than ten minutes out. What is the status of the RP at Hange?”
A short pause followed before the radio came to life. “Goliath-1, friendly forces are currently engaged in the area, and the RP has now been moved to grid A4; how copy?”
“Fuck.” Grinston exhaled and threw his hands up in frustration.
“Solid copy, Hitman. Are we to assist friendly forces?”
“That’s an affirm, Goliath. Link up with friendly forces and continue to the RP. How copy?”
Connor took a deep breath, glancing around the tank at his comrades: “Good copy, Hitman.”
“Roger Goliath. Hitman out.”
Connor toggled back to the intercom frequency. “You doing ok, Brooke?”
Brooke silently chewed on a trail bar Wade had begrudgingly forked up earlier from her snack stash.
“Yea.” she muttered after consuming the last of the bar, stuffing the wrapper in her pocket.
Connor cleared his throat, “How long did you know your crew?”
Brooke paused. “A few weeks.”
“Were you close?” Wade butted in.
“Settle down, Wade.” Connor grumbled, shaking his head at the woman’s bluntness.
“You know she can’t help herself when you have a convo over the intercom,” chuckled Grinston half heartedly.
“Yeah, Yeah…” groaned Connor.
“Well, were you guys close?” Wade continued, though her eyes stayed glued to her gunner’s periscopes.
“Yeah.” Brooke placed her hands in her lap, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“Well, damn,” Grinston said, shaking his head.
Before Wade spoke up, Connor felt a rising urge to comfort the woman still stained with her friend’s blood-
“Well, don’t you worry, ok? We’re your family now, and that ain’t going to change, alright?”
Brooke stayed silent.
“Alright?” Wade turned around in her seat; her piercing light green eyes sliced through the dimly lit compartment.
“Alright.” Brooke mustered a weak smile.
“Awww, Wade is being nice for once,” Grinston chuckled, reclining in his seat.
Wade grew slightly red at the comment,
“I can be nice, you dickhead.”
“Ok- biiitch,” Grinston glanced back, laughing.
Brooke couldn’t help but snicker.
***
“Fucking shit…” Connor muttered as the town ahead came into view. Thick billowing columns of smoke rose above the settlement, with the pops and cracks of gunfire echoing over the surrounding farm fields.
Swiftly, he threw open his hatch with binoculars in hand; the calm ocean winds hit him as he placed the binos to his eyes, “Grinston Halt.”
“You got it,” Grinston chirped over the intercom, the Patton slowing to a halt immediately after. Brooke climbed out of her hatch, sitting on its lip with her legs dangling in, Wade popping her head out soon afterward.
“Welp shit, it’s Moro all over again, huh?” Grinston remarked after opening his hatch.
“If there’s a firefight, there are friendlies.” Connor scanned the outskirts of the blazing town ahead.
Wrecked Humvees and other civilian vehicles littered the roads around the settlement, most still ablaze. A few Eucan light vehicles lay shot to pieces in the surrounding fields.
“See any tanks?” Wade spoke up with her pair of binos in hand.
Connor continued scanning, every so often passing over the occasional wrecked KDNA M60 or M48 from the fighting the night prior.
‘We should make our way to the new RP, screw this…’ the thought crossed his mind.
‘There are still people who need our help.’
Connor pursed his lips, “Button back up. We’re moving in...”
***
“Gunner, HE, Personnel, Front!” Connor screamed, his throat burning from the gas generated by the fresh 105mm casing that sat underneath the breech. Enemy infantry bounded across the street ahead of the tank.
Brooke slammed a second high explosive shell into the breech; which locked shut behind the round.
“Up!” she hollered and set to grabbing another shell to place on her lap.
The power turret drive whined as Wade slewed the gun on target.
“Laid!” Wade barked.
“Fire!” Connor roared. The gun breech jumped back in its mount, ejecting a spent casing into the small basket below. A thunderclap resonated through the hull as the street ahead disappeared behind a wall of smoke and shrapnel. Fist-sized chunks of pavement flew into the air in every direction, some showering the charging behemoth.
“Gunner Coax, engage at will,” Connor ordered. The M60’s coaxial machine gun roared away, spraying through the smoke. Tracers lanced out into the open, slicing through the haze that concealed the enemy infantry firing their rifles at the fifty-ton beast.
“Up!” Brooke stated just as she fisted another HE shell into the breech against the rattle of small arms slamming into the vehicle’s exterior. The Eucan infantry caught in the open pressed on, though three of them laid motionless in the street and riddled with lead. Chunks and limbs of others littered the ground from the earlier high explosive shell.
“Push through em!” Connor barked. The Patton surged forward, tossing dilapidated car husks like toys as it smashed through.
“Tumbler 1-1 to any KDA units on this net. We need immediate reinforcements!” the radio hissed angrily in the back of the fighting compartment.
Connor keyed in his mic, his hands fumbling for a moment due to his gloves.
“Tumbler 1-1, this is Goliath-1. We’re ready to assist.”
A short burst of static followed, “Copy Goliath-1, this is Tumbler Actual; my RTO just got hit, and we’re pinned down at the high school near the water tower. Can you get to us!?” The man on the other end was nearly screaming over the sound of gunfire.
“Copy that Tumbler Actual. Where is the high school?” Connor scanned his vision ports, ensuring the bypassed enemy infantry team behind them wasn’t pursuing.
“I see it!” Grinston shouted over the intercom. Connor’s head whipped forward, and sure enough, the roofs of a compound of buildings could be seen slightly towering over the rest. “Tumbler Actual, we have eyes on your position.”
“Good copy Goliath- Shit! RPG-” an explosion threw smoke and debris high into the air in the distance as a rocket-propelled grenade slammed into the home.
“Pedal to the metal, those guys up there are in the shit!” Connor barked as his eyes were glued to the structure up ahead, growing ever closer by the moment.
“Got it, boss!” Grinston echoed as the Patton barreled forward, passing several dilapidated bombed-out one-story wooden houses.
“This place doesn’t look half bad- we gotta visit when it’s not blown to shit,” remarked Wade while firing off bursts of the coaxial machine gun. Spent casings continued to spill out of the bottom of the weapon into its bin.
“Alright- Infantry front!” Silhouettes on the first floor of what appeared to be a general store caught Connor’s eye, some of which were brandishing RPGs.
“I gottem!” Wade traversed the turret to the front and hit the trigger on the machine gun; chunks of the wooden structure exploded as it was raked with gunfire.
“Don’t stop! Get past them!” Connor screamed, “Put an HE shell in it!”
“Laid!” Wade hollered.
“Fire!”
The gun breech jumped back again, spitting the burnt, spent casing into the basket under the gun. A cloud of smoke and fire erupted from the shattered building’s windows as the Patton passed the dilapidated structure. Glass and chips of wood, along with the occasional limb, flew out into the street.
“Up!” Brooke chirped, loading another shell into the gun.
“We should be coming up on the school right about now!” Connor strained his eyes ahead while the Patton barreled down the asphalt.
Soon, a small sign reading J. Ronald High School greeted them as they sped past. Burned-out Eucan vehicles dotted the football field with much of its turf well melted from their fires. The campus grounds were desolate: Military and civilian corpses littered the area in a grisly mess with shot-up and bombed-out buildings making up what was left of the former learning facilities. Gunfire poured out the windows of the school’s gymnasium, one of the few buildings still left semi-standing adjacent to the football field.
“Driver halt! Gunner, HE, Infantry 3 O’clock!” Connor barked. The Patton slid to a stop just as he felt the turret whip to the right.
“Laid!” Wade hollered. Eucan infantry fired upon the gym from across the football field, many using their own destroyed vehicles as cover.
“Put some fire on em!” Connor’s eyes were glued to his viewports.
“On the way!” Wade barked, thumbing the triggers on the main gun and coax simultaneously. The 105mm gun roared, hurling a high explosive shell into the side of the burned-out husk of an APC. Infantry nearby were torn to ribbons by the blast as the shattered hulk splintered outward.
The coaxially mounted M73 Machine Gun barked sporadically with spent brass cascading into the bin beneath it. Connor watched with bated breath as the enemy infantry assault faltered under the abrupt crossfire. A Eucan brandishing an RPG ran out from behind a wrecked armored personnel carrier, only to get chopped to a bloody pulp from the waist up by the 73.
“Keep firing!” Connor barked before switching his radio from the intercom, “Tumbler, you still with us?”
Gunfire continued to pour out of the gymnasium windows onto the attackers below, though the radio remained silent.
“Goliath, this Tumbler, we’re still up, but we’re getting hammered by an MG nest from the building south of the gym!” a voice crackled over the net. Connor’s eyes darted to the two-floored structure opposite the football field. Muzzle-flash erupting sporadically from its windows on the second floor.
“Good copy Tumber. What about the risk of civilian casualties- was everyone evacua-” Connor eyed up the concrete building that looked like it was originally purposed as a PE classroom with weight racks and other equipment lying outside.
“Goliath- we are getting shredded!” The voice over the radio cut him short, “Civilians should be no factor, but we’re running out of ammo fast- Level the fucker!” Connor could hear the shakiness in the man’s voice clearer than day as he interrupted him.
“Building thirty degrees right, second floor, HE!” the man quickly switched his headset back onto the tank’s intercom frequency.
“Got it!” Wade shouted. The turret was slewing slightly at the command, its electric motor audibly whining.
The breech pivoted up as the main gun elevated.
“On the way!” Wade screamed, jerking her triggers. The 105mm cannon boomed, its breech spitting the spent casing back into the turret.
The entire face of the building disappeared in a thundercrack; smoke and large pieces of concrete enveloped the nearby enemy infantry. Rebar and shards of cement sprayed over a large area, shredding anyone unlucky enough to survive the initial blast. A shower of flakes of paper began to rain down on the field.
“Pour it on em!” Connor barked; once again, the coax rattled to life, spitting death and spent brass in a torrent. More enemy soldiers fell under the onslaught of machine-gun fire while attempting to grab their wounded.
“Looks like they’re booking it!” Wade tiredly cheered, the M73 still ratting away in short bursts.
“You still with us, Tumbler?” Connor switched his headset back to the radio net.
“That’s an affirm, Goliath. Thank the gods you showed up,” the radio crackled to life.
“What’s your fighting strength? Those Eastern dogs will be back,” Connor observed the carnage across the football field. Corpses in various conditions were strewn out amongst the burnt-out hulks of their vehicles. A lone KDNA humvee sat at the entrance to the school, shot to hell from autocannon fire.
“We’re still doing a headcount, but we’ll send over a runner to guide you toward our position. CO wants a word with you, over.”
“Good copy,” Connor reclined in his seat, exhaling loudly before switching his headset to the intercom channel.
“Eyes up, everyone, we have friendly infantry incoming to guide us.”
***
After a short wait, a lone infantryman appeared in front of the tank. Connor watched as he jogged up, rifle slung over his shoulder.
“Hopefully this guy can ground guide, I don’t want to run over another Humvee again,” Grinston snickered as the infantryman drew nearer, eventually clambering over the front of the hull.
Connor threw open his hatch and popped his head out.
“Corporal Connor O’Neil, 310th Armored,” he extended a gloved hand, which the grunt eagerly shook.
“Sargent James Stacker, 23rd Mechanized,” the man grinned and took a seat atop the turret.
“Get us moving, Grinston,” Connor calmly ordered, and soon enough, the M60 rumbled forward.
***
Much like the rest of the school’s structures, the gymnasium building was pocked with bullet holes and burns. Much of its second-floor windows lay shattered, with hastily assembled sandbag walls replacing the brittle glass.
“How long have you guys been here?” Connor remarked at the sight of the 50 cal nest on the second floor. A pair of soldiers were manning it while smoking cigarettes.
“Roughly 24 hours. My unit was part of an offensive back into the region, but a lot of the guys in there were here since the war started,” Stacker scratched the stubble on his chin.
“Fuck, you got a long-range?” Connor shook his head.
“Yea- pull around the back of the building; that’s where we are keeping what’s left of our vics,” Stacker pointed.
Connor keyed in his headset, “Grinston, make a right at the corner and stop there.”
“Got it, boss,” Grinston chirped. The Patton rumbled forward, its engine humming as it powered up the slight incline.
“Where’s the rest of your unit?” Stacker asked quizzically.
“You’re looking at it,” Connor flatly answered, his heart twisting.
“Gods fuck-”
“Stop here,” Stacker clambered down from the turret onto the grassy field.
“Halt,” Connor barked through the intercom.
The Patton jerked to a stop, and Connor sat up out of his cupola. A quartet of humvees rested next to the entrance along with a pair of M35 transport trucks.
“Get a bite if you can, restock the ready rack, and be ready to roll guys,” he poked his head back in before taking off after Stacker.
***
The inside of the gym was a chaotic mess as Connor found himself dodging medics carrying stretchers laden with wounded and disfigured soldiers. The wood glossed indoor basketball court was tinged a red hue as it was turned into a makeshift operating room. Bodies covered by tarps and jackets lined the far wall by the dozens.
“Fuck…” Connor muttered at the wails and groans of the wounded and screaming of medics as they tried to save who they could.
A hand grabbed his arm abruptly, making him jump slightly. Turning his head, he relaxed as he noticed it was only Stacker. “Come on. The boss is right up ahead.
A group of NCOs stood around a trio of plastic folding tables at the far side of the court.
“Pull back our scouts here and here-“ Connor heard a man drone on from the far side of the makeshift planning desk.
“Sir, that tank commander you asked for is here!” Stacker announced, causing the conversation to halt. The NCOs parted to reveal a man wearing a flight suit standing across the table, a bandage coiled around one of his biceps.
“Sir, Corporal Connor O’Neil 320th Armored Battalion, Golf Company,” Connor snapped to attention at the sight of the gold bars that adorned his collars.
“2nd Lieutenant James Winsler, 2nd Air Cavalry, 1st Squadron. Good to see you.” Winsler held out a hand which Connor readily shook.
“Come closer, I’m gonna need your help in this plan,” the man continued, waving forward.
Connor hesitantly stepped closer as he looked over the nearby table. A large map was laid out over the desk, outlining a general layout of the town and its surroundings. A bunch of red Xs marked off some positions on the outskirts of the settlement, either labeled “Overrun” or “Abandoned.”
“So, we’re pulling our scouts back before nightfall, loading up everything and anything that can drive, and leaving under cover of darkness,” Winsler started off with.
“What’s our route?” One of the sergeants raised a hand.
“We’re going to try to use the I-5, hug the coastal roads until we get to it,” the officer answered, crossing his arms.
“You think the Euk’s are going to let us go without a fight?” another NCO questioned.
Winsler thought for a moment, “Doubt it. We’ve been a thorn in their side for the past month. If I were them, I’d jump at the chance to crush us.”
“Sir, how’re we making it out in one piece then? A mad dash? The only up-armors we have are Charlie 2 and 7,” Stacker added.
“That’s where Goliath comes in,” Winsler looked directly at Connor; a feeling of unease swept him.
“Corporal, ever heard of thunder runs?” a small smile pursed the officer’s lips.
Connor thought back to the days of tank school and the history lessons they went over.
The memory of one particularly boring course came to mind, “Weren’t those used by the Sect in Nanda during the Civil War in 67?” Connor asked.
“Yep, we’re going to have your beast at the front of the column, blasting God and anything if it moves,” Winsler traced a road on the map with his finger.
“I-5 is compromised. Are there any other routes?” The thought of the burnt-out friendly vehicles on the route into town flashed across Connor’s mind.
“Alright...shit…” Winsler scratched his chin, staring intensely at the map.
“I-8?” Stacker called out, pointing to another major road that led out of town.
“It’s too direct of a route. Those Euks would be waiting for us,” the officer sighed. A nearby artillery explosion showered the men in loose dust and powder.
Connor stared at the map for a moment before looking up, “Sir, our best option is to get away from the coast as fast as we can. If we go along the coast, we’re going to get sandwiched between them and the water.”
“Hmmm…” Winsler continued examining the map and dusted off a few flakes of dust and cement from the parchment..
Another shell landed nearby.
“Get your men ready to move at night. Hand out what ammo we have and pack up or destroy what you can’t pack up,” Winsler stepped back and lit a cigarette, taking a long puff.
Soon enough, the NCOs fanned out to their teams, leaving Connor alone over the map.
“...What the fuck did you just volunteer for…” he sighed to himself.