The engine roared to life with a ferocity that echoed off the walls of the garage, filling the cold morning air with its deep growl. The vibrations coursed through the tank, rattling the hastily welded scrap metal that made up its crude armor. Juri Stalin gripped the controls with steady hands, the experimental machine humming with raw power beneath him.
Viktor stood outside the tank, bundled against the biting wind, staring up at the hulking behemoth. His breath puffed in the cold as he watched the tracks grind against the concrete floor. “Are you sure this is going to hold together?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the engine.
Juri’s response was a curt nod from inside the driver’s compartment. “It’ll hold.”
“It doesn’t look like it’ll hold,” Viktor muttered under his breath, though he climbed onto the hull, gripping the side of the turret for balance. “At least tell me you’ve tested the steering.”
“No time for tests,” Juri said, his voice sharp. He glanced at the fuel gauge—it barely registered above one-fifth. They’d had to scavenge every spare drop from the workshop’s reserves just to get this far. “Get inside and hold on. We need to reach the base before this tank drinks the rest of the fuel.”
Viktor groaned but climbed into the cramped interior, wedging himself into the gunner’s seat. The smell of oil and hot metal filled the compartment, and every surface was cold to the touch.
“You know,” Viktor said as he adjusted himself, “this tank of yours might be revolutionary, but it’s not exactly comfortable.”
“Noted,” Juri replied dryly, flipping a series of switches on the dashboard. “Hold on to something.”
Without another word, the tank lurched forward, the tracks grinding against the icy ground as they bit into it. The sudden movement jolted Viktor, who swore loudly as he nearly hit his head on the turret’s interior.
“Smooth start,” he muttered sarcastically.
Juri ignored him, focusing on the controls. The tank rumbled out of the garage, its massive frame casting a shadow across the snowy yard. Once clear of the building, he adjusted the throttle, pushing the engine harder. The machine roared in response, the tracks tearing into the snow-covered earth as it gained momentum.
The roads leading away from the workshop were narrow and winding, not meant for something as massive as the T-95. Juri’s tank groaned as it squeezed through the first turn, its sides brushing against a fence and sending wooden splinters flying. Viktor winced at the sound but said nothing, gripping the sides of his seat as the tank plowed ahead.
The small village at the edge of the road came into view, its streets quiet under the morning light. That peace didn’t last.
The moment the T-95 rolled onto the cobblestone streets, it became the center of attention. The ground trembled under its weight, and the tank’s engine roared like a beast unleashed. Villagers emerged from their homes, their faces a mix of awe and terror as the machine lumbered through the town.
“Careful, Juri!” Viktor called out as a cart full of hay narrowly avoided being crushed under the treads. “We’re supposed to be heroes, not destroy half the town before we even see the Germans.”
“Then they should stay out of the way,” Juri snapped, gripping the controls tightly as he steered the tank around a corner. The turret scraped against the edge of a building, leaving a trail of crumbling brick in its wake.
A group of children ran after the tank, cheering and laughing, seemingly oblivious to the destruction it was causing. One of them threw a rock at the hull, the small clang barely audible over the engine. Viktor peeked out of the hatch, waving them off.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Go home!” he shouted. “This isn’t a game!”
The children ignored him, still chasing the tank as it rumbled toward the outskirts of the village. Juri paid them no mind, his focus on the road ahead.
By the time they reached the main highway leading to the military base, the fuel gauge had dropped alarmingly low. Juri cursed under his breath but kept pushing the engine, unwilling to stop now.
The base came into view an hour later, its tall fences and watchtowers stark against the snowy landscape. The T-95 rolled up to the gate, its presence impossible to miss. The guards stationed there gawked at the massive tank as it approached, their rifles momentarily forgotten.
“What the hell is that?” one of them muttered, stepping back as the machine came to a stop.
Juri leaned out of the driver’s hatch, his face stern. “Open the gate. I’m here to see Colonel Makarov.”
The guard hesitated, then nodded, signaling for the gate to be opened. The massive steel doors creaked as they parted, allowing the T-95 to rumble through.
Inside the base, chaos erupted as soldiers and officers scrambled to get a closer look at the tank. The ground shook under its weight, and its engine growled like an angry beast. Men pointed, shouting questions to one another, but Juri ignored them.
He parked the tank near the administration building, shutting off the engine. The sudden silence felt deafening after the constant roar of the drive. Viktor climbed out of the turret, stretching and shivering as he hit the ground.
“I feel like I’ve been rattled to death,” he muttered.
“Stay with the tank,” Juri said, climbing out after him. “I’ll talk to Makarov.”
Viktor raised an eyebrow. “You think he’s going to be happy to see us?”
Juri didn’t answer, striding toward the building with determined steps. Soldiers parted as he approached, their eyes wide as they stared at him. He pushed open the heavy doors and made his way to Makarov’s office.
----------------------------------------
Colonel Makarov was seated behind his desk when Juri entered, his expression as unreadable as ever. The two officers from the previous meeting were also present, their faces a mix of surprise and amusement.
“You’re back,” Makarov said, leaning back in his chair. “And you brought… that.”
“That,” Juri said evenly, “is the future of warfare. And it’s sitting outside your base with only a fifth of its fuel tank filled.”
Makarov raised an eyebrow. “Is that a request?”
Juri stepped forward, his voice firm. “It’s a demand. If you want that tank to reach the frontlines, I’ll need fuel. And I’ll need it now.”
One of the officers snorted. “He’s awfully bold for a man asking for help.”
Juri shot the officer a glare before turning back to Makarov. “You wanted proof that my engine works. There it is. Now are you going to give me the resources I need, or are you going to let this base fall while you sit here debating?”
Makarov stared at him for a long moment, his fingers steepled in front of him. Finally, he sighed and shook his head.
“You don’t seem to understand the situation, Stalin,” he said, his tone cold. “The Germans are advancing as we speak. We don’t have time for you to sit here, tinkering with your machine and begging for fuel.”
“You don’t have time not to,” Juri countered.
Makarov slammed his hand on the desk, silencing him. “Enough! You’ve built your miracle machine, fine. Now prove it. Take it to the frontlines and stop the Germans before they overrun our defenses.”
“I can’t make it to the frontlines with the fuel I have,” Juri said through gritted teeth.
“That’s not my problem,” Makarov snapped. “You wanted to play the hero? Here’s your chance. Now get out of my office and get moving.”
Juri clenched his fists but held his tongue. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the office, his boots echoing against the floor.
Back at the tank, Viktor was pacing nervously. He stopped when he saw Juri approaching, his expression hopeful.
“Well? Did they give us what we need?”
“No,” Juri said shortly, climbing into the driver’s seat. “We’re going with what we’ve got.”
“You can’t be serious,” Viktor said, climbing in after him. “We barely have enough fuel to make it halfway to the front, let alone fight a battle when we get there.”
“Then we’ll make it halfway,” Juri said, starting the engine.
The tank roared to life once more, and the base was soon filled with the sound of grinding treads as the T-95 rolled toward the gate. Soldiers stepped aside, watching the machine leave with a mix of awe and disbelief.
Viktor sighed, gripping the side of his seat as the tank rumbled onto the road. “This is insane, Juri.”
Juri’s eyes were fixed on the horizon, his jaw set. “If we don’t stop them, no one will.”
The road stretched out before them, leading to the frontline—and the unknown.