Fumes billow aloft. The reeks of burnt metals tag along. Amidst popping gunshots and distant explosions, a solitary tank is consumed by fire. Her parts are scattered here and there. The ripped hull lies still waiting to rust. The turret is cast away. She is now nothing more than a salvage labor. Three Pilum cease its function. Lucky hits. The Chord has a well-protected munitions compartment. Looks like the first two Pilum paved a way for the third. Reactive armor can only do so much. They can’t withstand repeated hits.
Caitlyn reopens her eyes. The blast nearly consumed her. She got out in time. A groaning alerts her. Dread and despair are in her tone. Clearing the smoke that head her way, Caitlyn crawls around the tank. Her comrade is crumpled there, a human unlike her. Her face is pale and stiff, her hands are pressing her stomach. Blood is dripping from there. Her right arm and thigh are red as well. Caitlyn approaches and lifts her head. The girl, taking short and quick breaths, takes Caitlyn shoulder and pulls herself close.
“M-ma’am…” She stutters. “It…it hurts…”
Caitlyn carries no field dressing to contain the bleeding. It’s destroyed along with the rest of the medical kit when the tank erupted. What a pity. The nearest base is about eight kilometers away. There’s no way she can make it.
Tears begin flowing down the girl’s face. “M-mommy…” she cries.
The girl is a private assigned to her two days ago. Caitlyn remembers her ambition, how she was always excited to see combat. Seeing her now pushes a tear down her own eye. She is a daughter, a sister, a relative. There is someone back home that will weep for her. Caitlyn clenches her left fist. They were on patrol duty when her platoon member spotted a vulnerable telve (read: telvay) landship, the ‘Warlock’. At least it appeared to be. Caitlyn was on the watch as the three Chords advanced. But the landship had expected them. Her platoon was then decimated by Pilum fires from hidden telves. None survived. And judging the condition of her partner, Caitlyn will be the only one.
Caitlyn nudges her head closer. Their helmets touch. She wipes the poor girl’s eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She says.
“C-cold…” Her breath caught.
A small puff of air tickles her neck. The girl’s grip loosens, eventually touching the ground. Her sight becomes blank. Caitlyn closes her eyes and her mouth. She slams her fist to the ground. Lives lost again and there’s nothing she can do about it. Most notably how it’s her fault. She is the one that approved the decision to go after the landship. Command might pardon her. But herself, is another story.
Two elliptic objects approach her from the distance. They fly not far above ground; telve’s assault drones. Their searchlight repeatedly sweeps from left to right. It seems like they’re about to finish the job. Caitlyn tenses up. She snatches the girl’s tag before hustling away.
The trunks splinter. Dust squirts from the ground as small-arms’ cartridges fall short of her. She bends slightly, reducing her profile. That effort is pretty fruitless. It only works when the opponent is on the ground. Caitlyn zig-zags through the trees. The drones are faster. They won’t face difficulties taking her down with their twin rotary-barreled machine guns. For some reason their shots keep on missing. But the bullet impacts still stress Caitlyn.
Two shots struck her left thigh. The shock topples her. Caitlyn reaches to where she’s hit. The pain is there. But there is no bleeding. She is much more resilient. She is an Android. It takes more than that to inflict fatal injury.
The drone looms on her. Their optics, searchlights, and guns are trained at her. Caitlyn has no chance to stand back up. They would immediately shred her down. She was expecting them to do that once they got her cornered. They don’t however. It surprises her. They just float above as if taunting her for not running fast enough. Caitlyn has no other option. She raises her hands, expecting the arrival of telve’s Guards.
There’s a distant roar. Something tears a big hole through one of the drones. Its parts spew out from its back as if its vomiting it. The crimson glow on its optics fade out. The drone collapses. The other drone turns its sight, backtracking the trajectory of the projectile. It decides to bail in a second. But the projectile catches it too. The momentum pushes its hull to a trunk where it splits into two.
“You there!” A rough male voice blares through her utilizer. “To your eight!”
Caitlyn finds another Chord about two hundred meters from her. There are all sorts of foliage and branches neatly banded and stuck on him, a ghillie to better conceal the tank. There is no time for second thought. Caitlyn is so glad to find a friendly unit nearby that her feet move on their own. Getting away from those drones is no easy feat. Especially when bearing the guilt of losing her platoon. Though she can still operate and she knows it, she couldn’t think of anything but returning to base.
“Thank you.” Caitlyn nods, her breath heavy.
“Thank me later, lady.” The tank says. “Can’t have that while we’re still in telve’s yard.”
Caitlyn frowns, noticing how the tank responds to her instead of the crews. They must have left him here. Perhaps the tank is hit and they decided to evacuate immediately. Caitlyn can’t blame them. She was thinking of doing the same when the first Pilum hit her tank. But the second and the third was consecutive, almost immediately. There was just enough time for her to climb out. The explosion did the rest. It’s a fortune she survived.
“Don’t give me that look.” The tank adds. “That damned Warlock blasted my group to oblivion.”
She turns her attention around. Three black circles mark the ground. Dead Proxies lie here and there. Their equipment is scattered around them. Caitlyn didn’t notice the fallen soldiers on her way here. The tank caught most of her attention.
“The shock killed my crew, and I am left on manual drive. Bloody unfortunate.”
The way the tank talks intrigue her. He converses with her as if she is his friend of five years or longer.
“But you’re fortunate enough to survive.” Caitlyn gestures to him.
“Not if you decide to stand there babbling all day.” He raises his tone. “Get on already.”
Their situation is no doubt precarious. The telves could retaliate to the neutralization of their drones. That is if they find them here. They could either send a force enough to contain them or did the same to the tank and his group some moments ago. Both scenarios are equally probable. Though they both are low-value-target, there’s no guarantee that the telves wouldn’t send their expensive precision munition after them. Her experience says so.
Caitlyn climbs to the commander’s hatch. It sits just before the tank’s turret. Two motionless bodies greet her. Both are male; she suspects them to be human since the shock is fatal. Caitlyn takes a second to mourn them as she did the girl before. They fell in service of The Primus. He knows no superstition. But she hopes that he secures a peaceful and comfortable place for these people in the afterlife.
One deep breath casts her grief aside. It’s sufficient for the time being. Caitlyn pulls both men out and reclines them among their comrades. She finds it unethical to toss away deceased personnel and take their place. The crew cabin has three seat and it’s designed for this contingency. Her conscience insists to bring them back to base as well. But she feels like these men would prefer to be buried with their brothers and sisters in arms. It’s just a sentiment shared across the army.
“Crews come and go.” The tank says as Caitlyn made her way back. “Take me home, and I’ll make sure they remember them.”
Caitlyn climbs the tank again. “Are you sure you can do that?” She asks.
“No.” The tank responds. “But I’ll manage.”
Caitlyn drops to the seat. It has leather cushions, but it is as comfortable as an outdoor boulder that one sits on around campfires. The cabin is cramped. It is just a space for three people at most. The ammo compartment is behind her. Its heavily shielded partitions will contain any overpressure. The delay is sufficient for her to evacuate before the tank burst into flames. That girl didn’t do well enough. Caitlyn regrets how she could have ordered to hop out sooner.
Regardless, ammo penetrations are rare since the latest variant of the Chord. The ammo compartment is the most protected. There’s an additional emergency exhaust that opens to vent the pressure whenever cook-offs occur. The chance of the tank blowing up is smaller than its older variants. But never zero. Caitlyn just experienced it.
On the center dashboard is an interface screen. It displays the schematic of the tank divided into sections. Each section wears a color that indicates its integrity. Transparent gray means it is functional, solid red means it’s not. Most of the tank’s parts glow yellow on the interface; meaning it suffered damage but still operational. The engine however glows orange. It is still operational but requires repair for optimal function.
“Don’t even think about it. I have no spare engine to replace that.” The tank said. Looks like he caught where Caitlyn is gazing.
The interface screen also displays a line that oscillates whenever the tank speaks. It is, in a sense, the tank’s face. It helps the tank conveys emotions for better interactions. Beside it are the remaining shells, fuel, grid coordinate, elevation measured from sea level, and speedometer. There’s a lever on the ceiling. It leans to a side that says ‘gunner’.
“Mind if you drive?”
“Well if you don’t feel like…”
Caitlyn flips it to the side that says ‘driver’. The steers on the driver seat folds and retracts to its slot. The panels in front of Caitlyn shift. A slot opens and the gun control emerges. Caitlyn puts her hands on them. It’s her eighth year operating a tank, fifth commanding one. She too had seen Chords come and go. And now she is on a seat of a different tank again. It’ll keep happening until she breathes her last. She is convinced that the war would still be ongoing by then.
The engine starts. The tank turns around and lurches forward. Caitlyn’s head is nudged to the headrest as it accelerates.
“By the way,” The tank caught her attention. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Caitlyn. Nice to meet you.” Caitlyn said to the interface screen.
“That’s a pretty name.” The tank mumbles.
Caitlyn catches that. “I’m sorry?”
“Sorry,” The tank replies. “I meant I’m Protivotankovyy.”
“Protivotankovyy?”
“Correct.”
Caitlyn rubs her chin. It would be difficult to pronounce that amidst battle, even when it’s her mother tongue. There should be something simpler. She turns to the tank’s ceiling as she reaches deep into her processor.
“How about I call you PT?”
“If I got to call you KT, it’s a deal.”
Caitlyn nods. “Deal.”
“Awesome!”
The engine thunders louder. The tank’s speed increases rapidly. He sounds elated. Caitlyn never thinks she could excite a tank this much. She never thinks that someone would be delighted in her presence. The tank’s apparent pleasure lightens her. It lifts the burdening thoughts that plague her mind for a while. It’s odd how that happens. This is the first time they see each other.
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“Get those safeties off, would you?” PT asks.
Caitlyn glances at the control panel in the center. There’s a red switch inside a transparent casing. Safeties off allows enhanced mobility features such as increased top speed and more sensitive turning. It’s beneficial for positioning and outmaneuvering the telve’s heavier armors. But they are harmful to the tank’s integrity. Using them continuously can cause significant breakdowns.
“Are you sure?”
“There’s nothing to see here. We have to return as soon as possible.”
There is something menacing about the switch. Caitlyn’s hand refuses to reach it. As if there’s the word ‘death’ imprinted on it. PT must be aware of the consequences. He is the one who is going to suffer them so he has to be. And now he is telling her to take an action that ensures his harm. Her hand begins to shake. She curled her fingers to resist it.
“What? You’re not doing it?”
“I can’t…” Caitlyn glances away from the interface screen.
“You never used it. Did you?”
Caitlyn admits that it’s the case. But she has her reason. Safeties off is particularly harmful to the treads and engine when it comes to the tank’s mobility. The scale, however, varies with an unrecognizable pattern. If she is lucky, it will just wear out the engine and the tank will stop. A few touches of wrenches and hammers can handle it. On the other hand, it could entirely blow up the tank. Caitlyn doesn’t understand how that works but there is one confirmed case of it. Given the already poor condition of PT’s engine, she expects the worst case to be more probable.
It doesn’t matter if she is crushed, shredded, and cooked alive at the same time. If it’s the fruit of her action, she would open her arms. It matters to her when another party has to go through them as well. Even if PT is meant to suffer that fate, she can’t bring herself to do it.
“Bloody hell…” PT sighs. The interface displays a weary face. “Well at least no telves seen around here.” He exclaims. “So far.”
Caitlyn glances away from the switch. The tank sounds irritated. It’s either this or seeing the tank harmed by her deliberate action. The former is better in her eyes. She could better forgive herself. Still, that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy.
“Protivotankovyy, identify.” Command ordered.
The tank does what he asked. He transmits a line of letters and numbers through his voice. It’s his command code assigned by high-ranking officers. It lets them know that he is still in friendly hands.
“Crew, identify.” Command proceeds.
Caitlyn has one too, though a bit simpler. She transmits it through her utilizer also by voice.
“Received.” The voice says. “Return to friendly line immediately. A platoon of Gauntlets broke off from the engagement. Stay vigilant on your way here. Over.”
A telve tank platoon consists of three Gauntlet battle tanks and various support units. They are bigger and more armored than a Chord. But they are heavier and much more sluggish. Meanwhile the Chord is armed to penetrate their armor. Their one-hundred-thirty-millimeter gun is designed for that purpose. But this time they outnumber her. And she couldn’t trust PT’s integrity to take any more hits.
“Requesting support, sir. Over.” Caitlyn responds.
“That’s a negative. Telves are on to our position. Nearby forces are occupied. You’re on your own, first sergeant. Out.”
“Sir-” Caitlyn reached out for them but the transmission is cut.
“So…” PT says. The interface shows a face with a straight mouth. “Safeties off?”
“No!” Caitlyn slams the steel partition to her right. “I’m not touching that switch. Period.”
Whatever happens, she has to make do without the switch. Even if she can outrun the Gauntlets and rush through enemy forces with it.
“Giving off one or two shells shouldn’t hurt, I guess.”
“I’m the one with the gun, right?”
“That’s what I’m saying swee…KT.”
There is a screen on top of the gun control, an env-screen (read: N-vee screen) since it shows the surrounding view of the tank. It has four displays. Each corresponds to the tank’s cardinal optics. The optic that sweeps the front view is called the first quadrant. The right view is the second quadrant, and so on. It has night-vision and thermal sight features as well. Below the interface screen is a radar overlaid on a map. It shows live positions of her and friendly units within three kilometers. They refresh every second. Spotted enemies will appear as red triangles.
They are about to clear the woods and into a road through an open plain.
“Stop.” Caitlyn orders.
She squints at the env-screen. The road goes down. There’s an arrangement of houses on the valley, to the left side of the road. No sign of telve’s presence there. No sign of the Gauntlets either. There are more woods surrounding the plains. They could be hiding there. It’ll provide them a clear shot across the area. It’s a death trap.
“Do you see them?” PT asks.
“No.” Caitlyn says. She continues to observe the screen.
“Don’t see them either.”
It’s getting dark. There’s no friendly line in sight. The map suggests that she’ll see them once they clear a lower hill ahead. She thinks of skirting through the woods. It’ll take longer. The cover might be invaluable. But there could be more telve forces on the way. She’ll be caught between them.
Caitlyn glances at the safeties switch again. Should she make a run for it? How far they’ll be until something break down? Could she reach safety before it happens?
“KT! Straight ahead!” PT exclaims.
A Gauntlet appears on the hill. Its turret immediately finds them. Caitlyn aims the gun and pulls the trigger. A round soars through the air. It flies over the tank.
“Must take some skill to miss like that!”
“Shut up, I’m concentrating.” Caitlyn says calmly.
The Gauntlet replies. Its shell falls short of their position. Dirt and grasses are spewed by the impact.
“The gun! Aim for the gun!”
It’s hard to focus amidst the tank’s clamoring voice. Caitlyn strives to do so. She has to decrease the elevation by a finger nail length, a difficult task without full attention. She pulls the trigger again. The round curves and hit the base of the gun, severing it from the turret. The Gauntlet pops a smoke screen and disappears from sight.
“There we go!”
PT then cruises forward.
“Wait, what are you doing!?” She cries to the interface screen.
He too should be aware that they’ll be vulnerable out there. There are just more dangers than benefits. And they’re dangers that could be avoided.
“PT!” Caitlyn yells as they drift further from the woods.
A thunderous explosion shakes the cabin. Caitlyn looks over her shoulder. It occurred behind her. The third-quadrant displays a smoke puffing from a black crater. Nearby trees lost their leaves. The nearest one is cut in half.
“Ha! Not this time!” The tank rejoices.
Caitlyn is astonished. “Was that…”
“A Seraph Round, the same thing that wiped my assault group.”
Caitlyn would love to have a second to appreciate his perception. He just predicted the impact of the projectile. It takes a remarkable experience for that. Caitlyn has always admired this kind of people in the army. It’s as if they have a sixth sense. Why she has yet to develop that is beyond her.
Two shots lands to their left, missing them by a lot. The Gauntlets emerge from the woods to the right. They now have the elevation advantage. Seems like they can’t shoot them while sitting in the woods. They wouldn’t have to stick their hull out if they could.
“PT, through the houses!”
The tank change course. Caitlyn pops smoke to cover his turn. One shell hits the ground just beside the tank. PT rocks as another hits his side armor. The corresponding section shown on the interface screen flashes, indicating the hit.
Caitlyn feels fortunate that no penetration occurred. The section still glows transparent yellow. The reactive armor must have clutched that. But there’s no way she could keep this up.
PT turns to a space between two houses that fit him. He proceeds through a field. Fences and bushes crumble beneath his tread. Walls shatter as they make way. The Gauntlets fire again. Their shells land on houses that screen PT’s position.
“Get ready to fire.” PT said.
“I know what I’m doing.” Caitlyn replies.
The Gauntlets’ guns are trained at them as they clear the hamlet. Only one fires, the closest to them. It bounces on PT’s turret. The other’s sight is obstructed by the tank beside it.
“The treads! Aim for it!” PT cries.
Caitlyn trains the gun and fire. The shell falls short of its target.
“Again! Again!”
“Be quiet!”
Caitlyn clenches her teeth as she raises the turret. She pulls the trigger and finally manages to tear its tracks. It fires back. The shell hits the side of the crew’s cabin. The impact pushes Caitlyn to the left. She is fortunate that no spalling occurs. Thank the Primus the partition holds. She quickly regains her bearing and turns the turret slightly left. She adjusts the elevation again before firing at the Gauntlet for the second time. The shot penetrates its engine. A cloud of smoke puffs from its rear compartment. Caitlyn sees the crews scrambling out of the tank’s hatch. The rising smoke covers their withdrawal. The other tank then disappears into the smoke screens it popped.
“That’s more like it!” PT cheers. “Why can’t it happen earlier?”
Caitlyn frowns at the interface. “I haven’t shot in weeks, okay?” She sighs.
Her thighs ache. It is not as painful as when the bullets hit anymore. She reaches for the wound and presses it. Field dressing isn’t necessary since she doesn’t bleed. She hopes for a treatment soon because the aching irritates her. It doesn’t diminish her performance. She just dislikes when it diverts her attention. Missing the targets was probably due to it as well.
“You got hit there?”
Caitlyn raises an eyebrow. It should be obvious. She just shrugs as a response.
“You were running to me, so it shouldn’t be that bad.”
“Well…you don’t feel pain.”
“Says who? You?” The interface shows an emoji with one raised eyebrow.
“It’s literally in the textbooks.”
“Their propaganda has been successful lately, yeah?”
Caitlyn ignores that response to observe the env-screen again. PT deviates from the road into a line of trees. She ordered him to do so. Small settlements stretch in the distance. That’s where the friendlies are. There are distant gunshots. The rattling of small-arms are followed by the bellows of autocannons and large-caliber guns. Anti-tank rockets are being traded. Caitlyn advances to a closer firing position and attacks any telves she sees.
They begin to scatter under PT’s fire. Telve infantry scurry away from the friendly lines. Seems like their presence spooked them. They think they are being flanked. They manage to resist for a while, but their casualties begin to mount. The telves withdraw eventually.
PT heads for a safe spot behind the line where he could be repaired. Caitlyn reports to the local field officer. She strayed from her previous detachment and her platoon is basically gone. She sighs at the homework she just gave to Command. Her patrol mission failed. There probably won’t be any personnel assigned to her for a while. That should be fine as long as they keep her in duty.
She reaches for the girl’s tag in her pocket. A thin silver pendant worn by all Proxies. A mark of their existence and their service, a relic of her platoon. And it will soon be given to the girl’s family. This isn’t the first time Caitlyn lost her team. She never treasures them. Hence, no memories are made. Her team members took pictures. But they perished with them. She always thinks that she feels less devastated than she should be.
“Hey.”
Caitlyn hesitantly raises her sight to the interface.
“Oh sorry. You’re mourning, aren’t you?”
Caitlyn gently nods. But she isn’t sure what to mourn. The loss of her platoon, or how she can’t grieve over it? The thought starts to feel overwhelming. She sinks to her seat, calming herself because no one bothered to do it for her. Tired is an understatement. There is something missing from her. She always feels it. A drain that kept her hollow and miserable. She has no idea what. Yet she keeps on searching. She worries whether it actually matters. She hopes it does. It shouldn’t bother her every day if it doesn’t.