September 16th, 1983

Eastern Delos

Rizo Defense Line

88th Armored Battalion

Bravo Company

0910 hours

"Running Gunfight"

Thirty minutes after breaking contact…

A dull silence drifted throughout the fighting compartment, with only the low thrum of the vehicle’s engine offering any semblance of activity. Connor watched through his periscopes as the seemingly endless rows of trees continued to pass, farmland flanking the tank on both sides of the road. The radio was quiet; long gone was the buzz of activity that it usually held. Fruitless attempts at scanning for frequencies yielded no results.

Connor glanced down around the compartment. Wade sat quietly at her station with her boot rapidly tapping the turret basket’s floor. Brooke cradled a shell in her lap, the look of growing fatigue ever so prevalent on the woman’s face. Grinston reclined in his seat, occasionally making slight course corrections with a quick jab of the peddle, though barely moving at all.

Fishing a small laminated map from his flak jacket’s pocket, Connor traced the plastic-covered parcel with a gloved finger.

“How long have we been drivin?” Wade was the first to speak up.

Grinston didn't even take his eyes from his periscopes before he answered, “About a half-hour or so.”

A brief silence hung around before the woman spoke again.

“You doing ok, Brooke?”

Brooke stirred from her daze, blinking hard for a moment.

“Just a bit winded; these shells weigh a bit more than I'm used to….”

Wade smirked. “Well, don't get too tired on me, yeah?”

Brooke flashed a minor thumbs up.

Connor cracked open his hatch, fresh air blasting inside as he did. Popping his head out, he looked up and down the seemingly endless stretch of blacktop; the occasional old wooden fence or dilapidated farm could be seen ever so often. Artillery fire drifted in from a distance, not the scattered bursts that Connor was accustomed to hearing- but a roaring barrage. The occasional screech of a jet aircraft pierced the air, though a brief scan of the sky overhead yielded no sighting of the offenders.

“Where the fuck are we?” Grinston remarked aloud; Connor was temporarily snapped out of his focus at the not-too-distant sounds. The hairs on the back of his neck were still on end from the Frogfoot assault not even an hour ago.

“Uh- just follow the roads that lead west, I guess?”

Grinston swiveled around, a look of pure confusion on his face. “I guess?”

Connor pursed his lips, and the vague order of “Get as far west as you can to the FDL…” echoed in the back of his mind.

‘What the hell does FDL mean? Is it a place? A unit?’ a mental query trailed on and on through the man’s brain.

“FDL… FDL…” Connor mumbled the word aloud a few times in an attempt to job his memory of any semblance of the word being mentioned.

“Ey, you talking about the Faus Defense Line?” Wade yelled out from her station, not removing her eyes from her scope. With widened eyes, Connor peeked his head back down into the turret. “The Faus Def- How do you know about that?”

Grinston chimed in soon afterward, “Yeah, you tend to be lacking in the info department if it has nothing to do with smokes, booze, and food,” the man started to list off items with a gloved hand, tapping each extended finger one at a time. Wade turned a shade of red “H-hey, I can know shit. I have a degree, for fucks sake.”

“Look where that’s got you,” Grinston chuckled loudly.

“Eat a dick Grinston,” Wade pouted, though a sharp jab to the back of her shoulder made her jump in her seat. Turning around, she came face to face with Connor.

“What do you know about the FDL?” he demanded; Wade slinked back in her chair as the man gave off the energy of a detective interrogating her.

“I-U-Uh, my sister mentioned it yesterday.”

Connor leaned in, making Wade even more uncomfortable, “What did she say about it?”

Wade stared hard at the man as she pondered, only answering a few seconds later, “Something about moving trucks of supplies and ammunition there. That's all I know.”

Grinston laughed, along with Brooke, who managed a weak chuckle.

“Damn, Connor, ever worked for the boys in blue before? Never seen Wade choke up like that.”

Connor leaned back in his seat. “No, sorry, a bit stressed is all.”

“Suuuure…” the man below wiped a tear from his eye.

Brooke spoke up on her own for the first time since they started driving.

“So the FDL is a sort of position?”

“Sounds like it, but judging how hard they hit us back there, I could only guess the EAF will take this region within the day,” Connor sighed.

A loud chain of explosions followed by a pair of large blasts tore through the air up ahead. Connor’s heart jumped, and he slammed his hatch shut. “Eyes up! Heard that one clear as day, so it's close!” The fighting compartment resumed its dull hum in an instant. A duo of smoke columns rose high in the air just beyond the trees where the road cut. Forward the Patton rumbled, its engine humming loudly as it sucked in diesel and turned out horsepower.

“We got wrecks up ahead!” Grinston called out as the vehicle surged around the bend; a pair of twisted hulks rested on the road. The M60 pushed onward, getting closer to the still cooking-off wrecks. Their mangled carcasses were ablaze; Connor peered down at them as they passed, and large holes peppered the roof of one of the trucks. Occupants were nowhere to be seen, spare a flaming kevlar helmet on the other side of the road.

“Eyes up!” Connor called out once more at the realization that these wrecks were humvees. ‘Where…’ he pondered, scanning the surrounding trees for an enemy BMP or Anti Tank Team. The mighty oaks swayed gently in the wind; neither a sign of man nor fauna could be seen as Connor scanned three-hundred and sixty degrees within his cupola. Brooke sat tense in her seat as the eerie silence droned onwards- Only after the tank had cleared the two wrecks did the thought hit Connor,

‘Those holes came down from above-’

“Air Contact! Take cover-” He managed to blurt out before the road ahead seemingly exploded in a wall of smoke and debris. Connor wrenched open his hatch and threw his hands around his M2’s mount. Grinston slammed on the accelerator as far as it would allow. A looming shadow roared overhead, only momentarily bathing the accelerating tank with its outline. Connor whipped his head skyward to witness the imposing sight of Su-25 Frogfoot just as it pulled up hard and climbed abruptly into the blue above.

Pushing the gun as far down as it could go, the weapon’s barrel elevated just as fast. Once again, the fifty thundered to life, spitting rounds into the air in a wide arch. “Drive evasive!” Connor barked, still thumbing the trigger of the M2, which jerked back in its mount with each shot. The Patton swerved slightly from side to side. “Kinda driving a brick here!” Grinston shouted while working the clutch and throttle like a madman. The Su-25 screamed in again; its fuselage-mounted gun rumbled angrily. Cannon rounds smashed into the pavement ahead and behind the Patton as the enemy pilot attempted to bracket the vehicle in short bursts. Connor held onto his weapon for dear life while shrapnel bounced off the fifty cal’s armored gun shield. He fought to bring the weapon's barrel to meet the diving attacker, though its angle proved too steep. Once again, the enemy ground attack aircraft roared overhead and banked for another pass. Connor watched it lurch farther away until it disappeared over the treetops; its audible engines were a needle in a haystack of ambient sounds of battle.

“Did he fuck off!?” Wade barked from her position, drumming her boot anxiously against the turret basket. Brooke sighed loudly. “Maybe it ran out of ammo?”

Connor peered back into the turret. “I doubt it.”

“So, what's the plan? Keep surviving that fuckin thing’s passes till we find a conveniently placed tunnel or something?” Grinston added.

Connor popped back out of his hatch, swiveling his fifty cal towards the rear of the vehicle, over the engine deck, “That fucker is going to come at us low, and he's hitting us from the front or the rear!”

“We're going to blow his ass out of the sky!” he continued, leaning closer against the weapon to get a better sight picture. The distance between the M60 and the destroyed humvees had grown exponentially during the mad dash to evade the Frogfoot; both of the burning hulks looked minuscule in comparison. A low but growing roar droned in from behind the tank over the sound of the rumbling engine. Connor tensed up, his arms spaghetti from firing the heavy machine gun since the day had begun. The man’s eyes burned as he fought the urge not to blink, scanning the tops of the rapidly disappearing treetops for any sight of the aircraft.

An oversized silhouette greeted Connor shortly afterward, the Frogfoot flying low and fast along the road- directly from behind.

“Air contact rear!” the man screamed, smashing the trigger on the M2 with both thumbs. With a heart-rattling series of booms, the weapon opened up. Spent casings spilled below the receiver as the M2 gobbled up its belt link; tracers lanced towards the incoming aircraft. Connor’s teeth chattered against the shockwaves of the weapon, virtually exploding with each shot. The Frogfoot’s 23mm cannon responded in turn, and a fast-approaching chain of explosions chased closely behind the speeding tank as the pilot adjusted his aim. Connor had long abandoned firing in short bursts; the weapon’s heat began to hit his face. The plane, which had started no larger than a grape in size, bore down upon the lone M60 like a bird of prey. Gouts of flame shot out from beneath its wings. Nearly a half dozen dumb fire rockets zipped over the vehicle and smashed into the road ahead, felling trees and punching holes in the hardtop.

A stabbing sensation grew in Connor’s left bicep, his sleeve feeling warm and wet. “Come on!” he screamed, ignoring the pain; just as the Frogfoot screamed overhead, a handful of sparks came out from under the aircraft from impacts.

The plane banked hard up and climbed upwards, a trail of thick black smoke billowing from one of its engines. Connor watched the aircraft intently as it continued its ascent, only momentarily glancing down to see that a piece of shrapnel had sliced through his bicep. Blood seeped from the half-inch deep cut, staining his jacket’s arm a deep maroon.

‘I got a minute,’ Hastily, he ducked back into the turret, fishing a wad of gauze from the bin beneath him and shoving it against the wound.

“Ah fuck! You ok!?” Brooke slapped the round that she was holding back into the ready rack. The woman crawled over towards him with an actual medkit. Wade swiveled around, her eyes widening at the sight of Connor’s bloody arm.

“What's going on!?” Grinston called out, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

Wade clambered over, “Connor’s been hit!” A short delay followed before Grinston spoke again, “Is it bad?”

Connor grit his teeth as he wrapped the wound in gauze. “I'm not fuckin dead if that’s what you’re askin!” Blood soaked his gloves as he worked; Brooke tied a pressure bandage over his arm and pulled hard. The rattle of explosions outside shook the vehicle violently, followed by the screech of jet engines.

Adrenaline coursed through the man’s veins like molten fire. He jerked hard against Brooke’s grip and ascended again through his hatch. ‘A little longer…’ Connor told himself as the wind outside resumed rushing past him; he scanned the skies frantically for any sight of the Frogfoot. A long black streak of smoke trailed across the sky ahead of the tank- the Frogfoot, but it wasn't alone. With labored breaths, Connor grabbed hold of the fifty again; he leaned in to train his sights on the new enemy aircraft approaching the tank frontally.

“Get the fuck back in here!” Wade screamed, yanking on Connor’s belt. The strain in her voice tore a hole in the man’s heart, but the pair of lumbering Frogfoots that bore down upon them threatened to rip a lot more out of him.

One of the two aircraft peeled away slightly to the right, most likely to give itself a more precise shot. The fifty rattled in Connor’s grip as he let loose a long continuous burst. Cannon fire began to land around the vehicle; Grinston swerved as best as possible to avoid the incoming rounds. A shockwave hit Connor as a trio of shells found their mark, his vision blurring before he fell back into the turret. Of the three impacts, only one had failed to deflect, instead opting to detonate against the hull roof’s armor.

“Shit!” Grinston blurted out after a resounding clunk echoed through the roof above him. A quick survey found that it had failed to penetrate.

Connor’s muscles burned as she attempted to get back to the gun above him; Wade’s insistence on keeping him down didn't help.

The rumble of the fast-approaching jets reverberated in the man’s ears through his headset. ‘Come on… Up…’ Connor mentally willed himself from the bottom of his position, his knees screaming out in protest almost as loudly as his still bleeding arm. In a seemingly eon-spanning motion, he rose upwards. Wade hung on defiantly to his belt. “Wait, you fucking dumbass!”

Connor’s head popped through his still open hatch, and the man’s bloodied hands grabbed ahold of the heavy machinegun’s grips. He could feel his palms trying to slip even with the textured handles. Though still in fuzzy vision, he trained the weapon on the closest aircraft. The second Frogfoot peeled away abruptly.

“Come and get it….” muttered Connor as he sighted in the fifty; his bloody yet gloved thumbs started to apply pressure to the trigger paddle. A burst of cannon fire landed wide to the left of the vehicle; the shockwaves alone threatened to throw the injured man back through his hatch.

The Su-25 charged, its gun blazing away while barreling forward at nearly treetop level. Connor winced as he thumbed the triggers on the M2 again, the weapon barking and jumping against its mount like a chained hound. A dread gripped the man while he watched death scream at him at subsonic speeds. The plane was upon him before he felt it- a warm glow of an explosion. The heat washed over him in a massive wave; it felt warm, almost comforting, as a fireball erupted outwards in front of the Patton- before the wreck of the Frogfoot slammed into the road behind the vehicle; a secondary explosion following as the plane’s fuel tanks detonated.

Connor swiveled around, stunned for a moment as the aviation fuel fireball burned brightly behind the vehicle.

“Fucking shit Connor! Good shot! One more, eh!?” Grinston hollered, pounding the roof above him with his fist. With that reminder, Connor turned back towards the M2 and wrestled to bring it to bear towards the other Su-25. A flash of light-gray screamed over the vehicle at treetop level; the shock nearly threw the man’s head against his weapon. With a refocused fervor, he scanned the skies to search for the remaining ground attacker.

After squinting, his eyes focused on the remaining aircraft, which banked high above, just out of the fifty’s field of fire. ‘Come er you fuckin-’ Connor spat, elevating the weapon as high as it would allow. Suddenly, the enemy plane rolled over and dove towards the earth, spitting dozens of flares from its undercarriage. A dart of movement appeared in the corner of the man’s eye- a second plane hurdling up towards the remaining Frogfoot.

Connor’s eyes widened as the second aircraft pulled hard over to follow the rapidly descending Su-25, its light gray paint scheme standing out against the deep blue sky. Its swept-back wings and high-mounted tail set it distinctly from the Eastern Alliance bird. The man was awestruck as the two planes weaved back and forth at low altitudes.

“Grinston, halt!” Connor barked, and Patton rumbled to a stop with a short delay. Soon enough, all the hatches were thrown open, the tankers aghast at what transpired above them. With a hell rattling rumble, the remaining Frogfoot slammed into the ground with its left wing in flame. Slowly, the victorious fighter banked over and screamed over the burning wreck of the first Su-25, then passed over the lone M60, which is when Connor saw it. The markings running along the fuselage from the rear of the wings to the back of the engines… “KDAF,” he muttered to himself in disbelief at the word.

“What?” Brooke was already outside her hatch and attempting to tie off Connor’s bandage propper.

“It's- It’s…” The words struggled to formulate in the man's throat, though he found it quickly unnecessary as Wade cheered, “It's the fucking Air Force!” she pumped her fists in the air, jumping up and down on the roof.

“Where the fuck have you been!?” she shouted the question to the distant aircraft as if she expected a reply.

Almost on cue, the Air Force F-4 Phantom banked hard and wiggled its wings back and forth.

Connor had to put a pin in his joy as memories of prior enemy offenses earlier in the war came to mind. “Button back up; we gotta get a move on.”

Wade swiveled around with a disappointed look on her face, “What, why so soon?”

Grinston was already clambering back into his position before he spoke, “Remember Pasa?”

It was almost as if a switch was flipped in the woman’s brain as she heard that name, “We got to fuckin go.” Brooke seemed lost as everyone began to mount back up without a word.

“What happened at Pasa?” she questioned while lowering herself through her hatch.

Connor was the first to answer, “A textbook major EAF offensive, their airpower always works in conjunction with their ground forces when doing large pushes, so if those planes are here- there's a shit ton of hostiles heading our way….”

Right after closing his hatch, Connor swore he heard a soft prayer…

“Gunner Sabot Tank!” Connor screamed, his lungs and throat burning from the constant shouting. The M60’s turret slewed a few notches to the right before Wade barked out her response, “Identity!”

“Fire!”

With another skull-shaking boom, the 105mm howled, sending a tungsten-cored Sabot round hurtling down the road over the rear of the engine deck. A loud clang tore through the countryside as it made contact with its intended target. One of the three T-80s chasing them shuttered to a halt when the shell tunneled into its right turret cheek. Gouts of flame escaped the vehicle’s hatches after its ammunition went up; the vehicle rolled into a ditch on the side of the road before a secondary explosion tore its turret clean off.

“Sabot Up!” Brooke huffed, lobbing another shell into the breech after it had spit out the spent casing from the last shot. Grinston heaved the vehicle side to side while flooring it down the deserted forest road; near misses from the trailing tanks showered the vehicle in dirt and debris.

“Where the fuck are we going!?” huffed Grinston.

Connor stared back at the two still pursuing tanks. “Fucking west! Or just get us out of here!”

Grinston made a barely audible huff before speaking, “Shit! We got a bend up ahead!” With a heave, Connor swiveled around to face his forward periscopes on the cupola. Sure enough, a sharp bend appeared just ahead, the trees suddenly thinning into a large open farm field just past it.

‘They’re probably going as fast as we are…’ the thought drifted across the man’s head.

Swallowing hard, “Grinston, hard right turn with the bend; I’ll pop smoke to give us some breathing room,” Connor ordered and placed a hand on the small control panel that rested against the turret wall next to him.

“You fuckin got it!”

The Patton screeched down the deserted road like a bat out of hell, its steel tracks creaking and groaning. Trees zipped past the vehicle at high speed as it barreled forward. Connor held his still bloodied hand against the control panel, a finger atop the button that controls the externally mounted smoke grenade launchers. The distance between the vehicle and the bend closed rapidly.

“Here we go!” Grinston shouted; abruptly, the tank lurched hard to the right, its right track speeding up while its left locked up. Steel groaned and whined as the fifty-ton vehicle violently rounded the corner. An ear-rattling screech penetrated the fighting compartment. Connor felt as if his insides were thrown violently against a wall. Gravity suddenly shifted again when Grinston slammed the throttle wide open, the tank speeding down another deserted road. Simultaneously he thumbed the smoke grenade switch- four small canisters fired outwards from their mounts. A wall of smoke covered the rear of the vehicle as the grenades detonated mid-air. Connor immediately went to survey the surrounding area through his vision blocks.

The area on the vehicle's left flank consisted of a prominent couple acre-sized field that steadily flowed up in incline to a sizable hill on the far side of the clearing. To the other side was the forest, which they had seen much of for the past half an hour. Thick oaks stood proudly as far as the eye could see, their branches swaying gently in the wind. Ahead the road stretched once again towards the horizon down a significant straightaway.

Connor’s heart was sprinting in his chest as he sized up his options…

‘They're going to catch us if we try to cross the field…’

‘We’re going to get shot in the back if we try to run the straight away...’

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

‘The forest will slow us down….’

‘We're dying here…’

Something twisted in the pit of the man’s stomach at the last thought drifted lazily across his mind. He glanced down at Wade, who was still glued to her scope and drumming her boot against the floor, Grinston, gazing far ahead down the road, and Brooke, holding another shell in her lap…

“Alrigh-” Connor was about to bark out before a force violently slammed him forward. His vision snapped to blackness as the smell of burning diesel filled his nostrils…

“Connor!” a voice echoed dully in his ears as if someone was speaking to him through a thick pane of glass. His eyes felt heavy, with an endless black filling his vision.

“Gods damn it! Connor!” continued the voice; Connor struggled to move, his limbs seemingly unable to respond. His face felt warm though he could not feel where the warmth was originating from. ‘Am I dead?’

The thought drifted through as he stared out into nothingness, and a pang of fear crawled up into his heart.

“Is he dead?!” an indistinguishable woman's voice carried in. A shockwave traveled up the man’s body, followed by a muffled thump.

“No idea! Sabot up!” Brooke’s voice, while muffled, pierced through the veil of haziness.

‘Brooke?’ Connor thought, ‘She's still-’

A sharp pain reverberated through his abdomen, and the man’s eyes shot open in pain. Connor gasped for air; a tinge of smoke danced on the end of his tongue. The fighting compartment was nearly dark; spare the light following through the periscope blocks. Immediately it was noticeably quiet as the ordinarily low growl of the engine was nowhere to be heard. Connor’s breath was knocked out of him as the main gun fired; the shockwave from within the vehicle shook his soul. A warm wet feeling had started to creep down his forehead, and upon looking down, he found himself sitting on the floor at the bottom of his position.

“Last Ready Round! Sabot up!” Brooke screamed just after she slammed another shell into the open maw of the gun breech. A rising urge to get up from the floor nagged at Connor, and soon enough, he managed to throw a hand atop his actual chair, using it for support.

Brooke noticed this after returning from her seat from grabbing another shell. “Still with us, Connor?”

Connor flashed a pained yet noticeable smirk. “At the moment.” The man winced as he pulled himself up into the standing, getting up to his cupola’s periscopes.

His eyes widened at the sight before him. Gouts of flame crackled and danced across the tank’s engine deck, which explained the loss of power. At the beginning of the bend, a T-80 was burning violently after passing through the still hanging wall of smoke.

“Engines out, bossman, we’re dead in the water!” Grinston called up from the hull beneath, followed by the audible sound of a CAR-15’s charging handle being racked. A dull throbbing pain suddenly swept Connor’s forehead “Agh fuck, Status report?”

“We’re down to twelve shells!” Brooke called out while trying to restock the ready rack behind her. Wade sighed and continued staring down her sights, “We may not have power, but we still have backups.”

Grinston climbed back from his seat and set to help Brooke restock her racks from the hull, “I’m about as useful as a screen door on a submarine now that we lost the engine.”

Another behemoth emerged from the smoke down the road; Connor’s heart skipped a beat as the T-80’s 125mm cannon barrel punctured the cloud of haze first. “Gunner Sabot Tank!” Connor barked at the sight of the enemy vehicle, which had now stopped to aim.

Wade manually slewed the turret with a small crank, “Identity!”

“Fire!”

“On the way!” The gun jumped backward into its mount, its muzzle flash temporarily blinding Connor before the smoke rapidly cleared. A loud high, pitched cling echoed through the air as the dart slammed into its intended target- though deflecting high off the cheek of the enemy tank.

“Doubtful! Reload!” Wade screamed at the top of her lungs. Connor watched the enemy tank down to the moment it returned fire.

The world seemed to slow for a moment as an unseen force threw him against the back of the turret. A taste of copper filled his mouth, followed closely by an ear-shattering bang that penetrated Connor’s headset. It felt as if the whole vehicle lurched backward from the impact.

Silence filled the compartment before a voice cut through the haze “S- sabot up!’ Brooke wheezed loud enough for Wade to jump back on her gun. Fighting the pain in his back, Connor wrenched himself back up to the standing “Fire!”

Another thunderclap shook leaves from the overhanging branches. The 105mm roared to life once again. Connor watched as the shell careened into the enemy tank's upper hull plate- right through its driver’s hatch. Sparks flew out from the impact for an instant before the tungsten-cored round drilled through.

Gouts of flame sprayed out of the vehicle’s hatches which exploded open. Weakly a smile pursed Connor’s lips as he watched the enemy tank burn. He was so focused that he had overlooked the enemy infantryman shouldering an RPG within the trees to his left. A split-second puff of white smoke alerted him to the shooter.

The rocket-propelled grenade smashed into the turret cheek and detonated against the armor. Connor held on for dear life as the shock traveled into the compartment, throwing him against the turret wall.

“Contact left!” he screamed, noticing the movement of nearly a platoon of enemy infantry creeping towards the vehicle. The RPG man was already set on loading another rocket.

Wade frantically cranked the manual turret traverse; the couple-ton hunk of steel soon began to slew to the left. Another RPG slammed into the hull, the vehicle’s road wheels and tracks eating the bulk of the explosion.

“Fuck!” Grinston screamed, hunkering low in his position.

Shrapnel ricocheted off the vehicle's exterior when another RPG landed a tad short. Soon enough, the turret finished its traverse, and the gun depressed downwards. “On the way!” Wade hollered at the top of her lungs and squeezed the trigger on her station.

There was virtually no travel time for the sabot round that left the cannon's barrel at nearly the speed of sound. Violently it tore through wood, leaves, and flesh on its non-stop trip across the forest. Abruptly the enemy advance halted; some of the infantry were too shocked to move after witnessing some of their comrades being reduced to a fine mulch.

“Reload!” Wade ordered and began to hose the treeline with the coaxial machine gun.

With some labor, Brooke silently threw a high-explosive shell into the breech and wheezed a weakened “Up….” Connor glanced at the woman; his eye immediately noticed that she was clutching her side- her flak jacket’s flank was stained red.

“Grinston! Brooke’s been hit! Fuck!” he shouted just as the main gun went off. Before the breech could even eject the casing, Brooke was already on her side, gasping, blood leaking out of the corner of her mouth. Grinston scrambled at a speed no man of his size had any chance of reasonably attaining. He was well upon her with a first aid kit in hand. “Come on! Look at me, Brooke!” he pleaded while trying to shove gauze into the source of the bleeding. The woman could only utter a gurgled reply as one of her punctured lungs filled with blood.

Wade sat unphased and continued firing away with the mantlet-mounted machine gun. Connor moved his eyes back up to the vision blocks, his heart dropping at the sight of more infantry nearly upon them. Absent-mindedly he grabbed his 45 within its holster. In the corner of his eye, he could see Grinston struggling to keep up with Brooke’s blood loss, the woman staring at him with a pained look. A final RPG slamming into the turret face threw Connor’s head against the steel cupola. His vision blurred, his eyes became heavy, and darkness began to creep in. He fought to stay on his feet, the man’s eyes still scanning in a faint attempt to figure out a plan- any plan of getting out of here.

‘No…’ he battled vainly to remain conscious- not to let the darkness consume him again. He watched as one of the enemy infantrymen climbed into view atop the tank, a grenade in hand. With one fell swipe, the enemy soldier, who looked no older than Connor himself, pulled the pin while reaching towards Brooke’s hatch.

Just before Connor’s world returned to black- A bullet from the field beyond tore the man’s head off...

Connor was jolted away after the feeling of a sharp stab traveled up his leg; his eyes stung in the sunlight with a cool breeze hitting him in the face. He glanced down at his still blood-soaked uniform to see a needle sticking out of his hastily bandaged thigh. The man found himself sitting in the middle of a grassy field. Towards his boots rested the rear of a platoon of dug in KDNA tanks.

“What the fuck?!” he sputtered, his heart racing a mile a minute. A gloved hand was placed on his shoulder, causing him to jump into the seated position where he found himself.

“Hold on there, buddy,” a muffled voice came from his left. Slowly he turned to come face to face with a KDNA Medic; the upside-down red triangle on his helmet marked him as such. Connor reached for his helmet. “I can't hear you well,” he said, intending to remove his headset. His gloved hands came in contact with his bandaged head instantaneously.

Vibrations traveled through the ground beneath the man; slowly, he swiveled around to see the line of KDNA tanks that were dug into fighting positions. Between each rested a trench line with the occasional bunker built of cement and sandbag. Connor kept looking about to take in his surroundings. Artillery shells landed nearby, showering everyone in loose dirt. Humvees sped off behind the fighting position to go god, knows where. The stretcher he was laying on was caked in blood, the grass beneath lapped up it greedily.

A sharp ringing filled his ears abruptly, and suddenly sound returned to him. The world around Connor sounded as if it was ending; an orchestra of explosions in the distance echoed across the lands while the tanks, only a dozen meters away, fired everything they had. Gunfire chattered away in both directions while the distinct pop of rifle grenades stood out ever so often.

“Come on, pal,” the medic tugged at his shoulder just as another mortar landed nearby. A pair of ambulance humvees sat behind him, a third already speeding off. Connor resisted the man’s yanks with what energy he had.

‘Get up,’ he mentally urged himself to rise from the stretcher.

His muscles refused to respond.

‘Get up; we got to go.’

Still, his legs would not budge.

‘Come on-’ Connor’s mind hit the brakes at a hundred miles per hour as a thought crashed through his mind. ‘Where’re the others?’ Frantically his eyes darted about in a desperate search for a sign of anyone. He hadn't even noticed that he rose to a crouch.

A nearby blast threatened to throw him on his side.

“Enemy infantry is nearly on us!” an infantryman shouted from the trenches ahead. Two of the six tanks were already ablaze.

A solid feeling to move forward gripped Connor, like a hand guiding him towards death. ‘Was death that bad?’ he wondered at the loss of his comrades, his friends- his family. Friendly infantry started to withdraw from the trenches ahead, firing wildly behind them as they did. Connor rose to a shaky low stand, throwing one boot in front of the other.

‘Was it time to join them?’ the man considered; he reached down and felt for his holster, the grip of his Colt 45. coldly greeted him. He fished the weapon from its holster and held it out in front of him; its gunmetal gray finish was scuffed and scratched from abuse.

Connor’s grip tightened on the pistol at the thought of a world without his friends; his hands trembled. More explosions nearby rocked the man, though they were unable to fell him.

‘Was it time?’

‘No.’

‘Was it time?’

‘No.’

A mental battle raged on within Connor’s mind as the world seemed to slow around him. He stared intently at his pistol.

‘Well then, what will you do?’

His mouth felt unbearably dry at the question.

He looked up from his handgun and saw the friendly infantry starting to withdraw from the line, and beyond them lay the enemy. The enemy who took his home. The enemy who took his friends. His family. His life.

A match was struck in his soul, and Connor stepped forward. One step became two, and two became a sprint. Ahead he ran past the fleeing men and women, brushing past many who looked at him in bewilderment. Connor made a beeline for the closest tank; he spotted a pair of medics standing on the back trying to remove the commander who had been shot in the neck.

“Pull back! Pull back!” someone nearby screamed. Connor, however, paid no heed. Soon enough, he reached the vehicle's rear and set to clambering aboard. He could feel the engine's heat through his gloves as he set to scale the exhaust vents on the back of the tank’s raised engine deck. The notion didn't even cross his mind that the vehicle looked nearly nothing like an M60, even sitting lower in height.

Throwing a bloodied arm over the turret's edge, the medics clambered over the side with their patient in arm. The commander’s hatch was left wide open. Connor then quickly threw himself over the edge of the cupola and lowered himself in.

A pair of fear-stricken eyes greeted him the second he looked across.

“Who are you?” the strange tank’s loader questioned.

The breach kicked back after the gunner in front of Connor squeezed off a round. Without a word, the loader went back and hit a foot pedal with his boot; an armored door behind him slid open with a couple dozen shells sitting snugly inside. Turning back towards his commander’s station, Connor grabbed a bloodied CVC helmet from his seat cushion and slid it on.

A dull static filled his ears as he switched channels.

“-We’re getting torn apart up here! Requesting fallback orders! Over!” a voice pierced the radio waves, and Connor leaned to listen in.

An unfamiliar voice soon crackled across the net, “Iron Horse to ALCONs, we can not withdraw here, I say again! We can not withdraw here! Over.” A nearby blast shuttered through the armored walls of the vehicle, showering Connor in dirt through his open hatch.

“Sargent!” the loader screamed over the roar of battle both inside and outside the tank. Connor turned to face the man.

“You got a name?”

“Lasky, Sargent!”

Connor stood in his seat to get a view through his cupola’s vision blocks, “What's our callsign? I’ll hold it down for your TC.”

“Our callsign is Spearhead 2!”

Connor flashed a slight grin and set to observe the battlefield ahead. The field beyond was a hellscape; two T-80s burned violently with a handful of APCs following the same fate. Far down the hill at the other end of the clearing, he could see another pair of T-80s ablaze along a road- and Nomad, which was also on fire. Enemy infantry bounded behind the wrecks of their armored vehicles while firing. Artillery continued to pelt the hill in the inaccurate yet persistent fire. What KDNA infantry had yet to withdraw held their positions steadfast within their dugouts.

A shutter of movement in the distance caught Connor’s attention.

‘What was that?’ he squinted, the idea of it being a trick of the sunlight or a falling tree branch. At that moment, the tank’s coaxial machine gun began to bark away at the slowly approaching company-sized element of Euk soldiers.

“Contact front! Five times Tank!” the gunner screamed over the intercom.

Connor squinted harder. “Don't see it!”

His eyes danced back and forth across the tree line in search of these hidden main battle tanks.

“Use the GPSE!” continued the gunner; Connor furrowed his brow for a moment before Lasky spoke up.

“Sarge, it's the scope beneath the cupola!”

Connor glanced down and noted the device attached to the interior's roof. Lowering himself from his position, he pressed his face against the cushioned rest and shut one eye. The world beyond was bathed in a soft white glow; there was no color other than the varying shades of black and white.

Suddenly the view zoomed out, and the whole treeline was in sight; the burning wrecks of vehicles were a vibrant white, along with the moving figures of people out in the fields. Five massive hulks moved forward deep in the treeline in a broad line; Connor’s eyes widened as he discerned their silhouettes- T-80s.

“Gunner Sabot Tank! Far left!” he screamed; the turret jerked to the right.

“Identify!” chirped the Gunner.

“Fire!”

A thunderclap followed. “On the way!” as the gunner jerked his trigger. The 105mm jumped backward in its mount, spitting a shell casing in the basket beneath. A second later, the farthest enemy tank on the left erupted in a geyser of white on Connor’s scope. Not a moment had passed before the T-80s responded in kind, their guns resounding nearly sync. Two M60s sat ablaze in their dugouts; Connor could feel the tank rock slightly to the left as one of the armored vehicles detonated; its turret sailed wide into the sky.

“Spearhead-2, this is Rambler-1 Actual; we’re falling back; this position is no longer viable!” A woman’s shaky voice came over the local net.

“Gods!” Lasky uttered, looking through his periscopes behind the vehicle, “The infantry is fleeing!”

Connor’s heart jerked; he switched to the battalion radio “Any station on this net, any station on this net! This is Spearhead-2, our position is on the verge of collapse, and our infantry is retreating, requesting orders? Over.”

“This is Black Jack 5 to any station, requesting retreat order!”

A stream of pleas for help filled the channel as units started to reach their breaking points against the Alliance offensive.

“ALCON, this is Iron-Horse-” A short pause followed before the man spoke again, “Damn it all, prepare to withdraw-”

A second voice came to life, “All stations, All stations, hold retreat! I say again! Hold your ground!”

Connor’s eyes widened before hastily switching onto the intercom, “Engage at will!”

Without delay, he switched back, finding himself mid-argument.

“Unknown station, this is Iron-Horse! We are withdrawing; the situation has deteriorated!”

“Negative Iron-Horse, if we don't hold them here! They’ll be on the palace steps in a week!” the unknown man barked back.

“Screw 'em! They left us out here to die, damn you!” Iron-Horse, at this point, had abandoned any semblance of radio etiquette.

A pause followed before. “What about the civilians who fled West? Your loved ones? If they are not stopped here, and now, they will make it as far as the capital within a week.”

The radio hissed quietly, a time seemingly spanning an eon. Connor had tuned out the heart-punching feeling of the main gun firing or the constant shouts of both the loader and gunner.

“Iron Horse to Unknown Station, Identify yourself, over.”

“Can we send this on all nets?” the unknown voice told someone he could only guess was in the background.

A muffled “Yes sir.” could be heard.

“ALCON! ALCON! This is Gatekeeper Actual to every soldier of the Delos Defense Forces. We must hold this position at all cost; if the enemy breaks through here, they’ll be on palace steps by next Monday! Hold your ground!”

Without delay, “Gatekeeper, this is Iron Horse, enemy forces are throwing everything they have into their assault, airpower is effectively interdicting theirs, but mortar fire and local batteries are doing little to slow them, over.”

“Gatekeeper Actual to all stations, heavy support is now authorized. Hit those eastern dogs with everything we have!”

Connor keyed off the station just before an ear-deafening roar of fire missions started to fill the net. He peered forward, noting the three burning T-80s out of the group of five. The remaining tanks had already rolled into the open, still firing away with their main guns. Another thunderclap tore through the air as the last M60 detonated, leaving Connor’s tank almost alone, sparing a handful of infantrymen who had stayed behind.

A dull clang rippled through the compartment when an RPG smashed against the roof and detonated early. Connor peered through his vision blocks to see that the top mounted fifty had been blown off along with the lid for his cupola.

“Where's your crew weapons!?” Connor turned back to Lasky, who had just finished loading another shell.

“Up! Check the compartment under you!”

Bending down, he flipped a small metal latch on a box under his seat- the buttstock of a CAR-15 greeting him.

‘Those bastards are still running-’

‘It's just us now…’

“Incoming-” the Gunner rattled off before a dull clang reverberated through the compartment. Connor’s ears rang, and his vision blurred.

The images of Brooke bleeding violently danced across his mind while he tried to refocus, “Casualty report!”

“Non-pen! We’re good!” Lasky chirped; Connor swiveled around to see the gunner flash a thumbs up.

“I'm good down here!” echoed the Driver.

Keying in the battalion net, “Gatekeeper, this is Spearhead 2! Requesting a fire mission three hundred meters forward of my position, danger close!”

Near instantly, “Spearhead-2, this is Gatekeeper; hang on, all guns are currently tasked out!”

Connor cursed, grabbing a CAR-15 from beneath his seat and racking the charging handle. He rose just high enough in his position to see out of the slightly charred vision blocks. Enemy infantry were mere feet from the trench line; dozens and dozens of them lay just beneath, tossing grenades forward into the dug-in position.

“Spearhead! Spearhead! This is Gatekeeper; we have your guns! Over!”

A small grin appeared across his face. “Spearhead to Gatekeeper, Send it!”

“Gatekeeper Spearhead, nine guns, nine rounds, shot over, keep your heads down; it's going to be a big one, Gatekeeper out.”

At that moment, Connor peaked out of his hatch; bringing his rifle’s buttstock into the pit of his shoulder. With a quick jab of his thumb, the weapons fire selector settled on “AUTO.”

The carbine jumped in his grip the second he trained his sights on the nearest soldier. A blood splatter flew wide out of the woman’s neck, her body falling limp against the grass immediately after. Bullets began to smash into the side of the turret beneath Connor while he continued to work his way about clearing the area around the tank. More Eucan soldiers started to fall from the beleaguered tank commander’s fire. The more depleted handful of friendly infantry fought on, even as grenades rested at their feet. Enemy soldiers surged over the defilade and started to push into the blood-soaked trenches.

With a heart-shuttering clack, the CAR-15 ceased firing; its magazine expended.

“Fuck!” Connor spat. An enemy soldier came into view a few feet away; he drew a bead on Connor. Bullets smashed into the lip of the cupola; a searing sting reverberated from his bicep. Abruptly the hail of bullets stopped. He looked up to see the enemy soldier in the middle of swapping magazines.

With a heave, the empty CAR-15 sailed through the air like a spear, its barrel smashing into the man's face, breaking his nose. Connor unholstered his 45. and pumped his assailant full of lead before he hit the ground. Without hesitation, he brought the pistol upon another trio of soldiers- neglecting to see the one who had crouched low against the hull to prime a grenade. Connor’s 45. jumped in his grip; its slide locked back after a single shot. A bright puff of blood exploded out of the enemy man’s shoulder, nearly throwing him off his feet, though causing the grenade to fall out of his grip; its pin was still engaged.

With a sharp cry, the Eucan below fumbled for his rifle. Connor glanced down and grabbed up a spare magazine from his belt. The enemy below, at that point, had just started raising his weapon towards him- before a bayoneted M16 dug into his flank.

“Advance!” A KDA infantryman screamed at the top of his lungs; Connor swiveled around to witness the moment as a company of charging guardsmen slammed into the enemy line. Screams and grunts carried over the sounds of gunfire while the two sides exchanged blows with bayonets and entrenchment shovels.

With a satisfying clack, Connor’s 45. Chambered another round.

Below him, the couple dozen friendly infantrymen continued pushing the Eucan troops further and further off the line. Rifle fire was exchanged at nearly point blank while fists, knives, buttstocks, and shovels flailed back and forth. Connor drew a bead on another enemy atop a KDNA guardsman, the soldier attempting to use his body weight to aid him in driving the bayonet into the pinned soldier below. With another quick trigger pull, the Eucan man’s head was torn open by the slug.

Connor squeezed off round after round, gritting his teeth, focusing on the enemy ahead. The occasional shockwave of the tank’s main gun hit him as he fired away, though he paid no heed, reloading and resuming firing again.

“Gatekeeper to Spearhead, splash in ten, brace for shock,” Gatekeeper’s voice echoed through Connor’s headset, his attention elsewhere while he continued to pick off the occasional Euk. An ear-deafening shriek filled the air, the sounds of battle seemingly mute with its looming roar.

‘We almost got 'em,’ Connor urged himself on. A slight urge to take cover crossed his mind at the idea of danger, close artillery, that moments away from landing. The Eucan advance at that point had stalled, though, at the other end of the field, a new company of armored transports and infantry began to emerge from the treeline.

‘It's just 155mm-’ the man couldn't finish his thought before the earth suddenly heaved beneath the opposite side of the clearing. A shock that uprooted trees a dozen meters around reached Connor in a fraction of a second. The enemy advance seemingly disappeared behind a wall of dirt and fire. BMPs with hulks of the T-80s were tossed aside like toys while the people around them were no more than shadows across the singed earth. Another massive explosion, and then another, followed by another, started to land ahead. With each impact, the tank beneath Connor recoiled against its suspension. Every blast inched closer, reducing enemy infantry platoons to mist with scattered limbs flying wide into the next grid square. The notion of ducking back into the turret had just crossed Connor’s mind before he felt as if he had been hit by a car, an audible crack emitted from his lower back as he smashed violently into the cupola rim.

The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as he collapsed into this position; everything from the waist down felt detached.

‘N-not yet…’ Connor’s brain trailed as his vision began to grow dark. Blood had been pooling underneath his seat from wounds both new and old. His breaths became rugged and harsh. Not a thing was discernible around him as he stared blankly up, the blue skies above shining through his open hatch. The sunlight bathed him in warmth.

‘Not yet,’ he raised a bloodied hand in front of him, tears welling in his eyes as he attempted to grasp the world outside in his stained palms. The radio was going berserk in his ear but sounded no more discernible than a low rumble of noise.

Connor attempted to reach farther- his legs sat limp in front of him while his back screamed out in a sharp, stabbing pain. A wave of drowsiness washed over him like a warm, comforting blanket.

“Sargent!” Lasky hollered through the chorus of explosions and the whine of the engine. Connor strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the man, though he found that he couldn't muster the energy to turn his head-

Once again… Connor’s vision fell to darkness…

End of Book I