Lt. Angel- Trained as a radio operator and tanker, in his spare time keeping the regiment's chronicle. In addition, in his spare time, he likes to browse old files and archives in search of information about his companions, which then, of course, after the appropriate editorial office, publishes in Kraunia Times.
Captain Driv4 has always been a mystery about his origins. It took me a long time to trace his story, but I hope my work has not been in vain. The first traces of his activities in the Colonial army I managed to find after many months in The Linn of Mercy. An emaciated and not well-dressed boy, who seemed to be too skilled in the art of war for a recruit, enlisted there. His interests were too focused for a newcomer to the army, though some of his habits were all too suspect. These include, for example, excessive pulling back when reloading a standard rifle, which is a characteristic feature of a Warden weapon. Therefore, the command of the local garrison ordered an investigation, the results of which I managed to recover from the chest under the destroyed headquarters of the local unit. Here are snippets of what I could find:
- “People when asked about the boy they mentioned that he came from midnight. The heavy blue winter coat resembled those the Wardensian army traded for food and alcohol in many more northern villages. He seemed to be coming from a distance, but no one had seen him meet anyone before entering the unit's recruiting office, where he was heading from the moment he entered the city. An in-depth investigation of the case has been commissioned by an intelligence group headed for Caovia. ”
Apart from that note, there was nothing else in the chest about the Driva. Attempts to find the report or even a mention of this "intelligence group" turned out to be fruitless. According to official sources, no group was sent to or passed through these territories. However, contrary to appearances, the lack of a trace was also a trace. Either the group had a mission of extremely important status or it never returned from the mission and the information about it was suppressed. The first option was far beyond my reach, so I chose to follow the second. After several months of searching and careful search for sudden human shortages and inaccuracies in the times and places of the mission. Based on this data, I was able to recreate more or less part of the path of the missing group. I embarked on a long and perilous journey through snowy areas of hostile territory, but the trail of the recon team was cut off before it began in earnest. As it soon turned out, only the first camp was set up where my search assumed, so I had to abandon this plan. At that moment, all traces were lost, so I forgot about the whole matter. However, it was returned during the liquidation of the archives of the Republic. As a result of numerous turbulences, a few swindles and many liters of vodka, I managed to get some of the files. In one of them I found records of interrogations of a young armored soldier. Some of the data was blurry or burned in some places, but their message was quite legible:
Finn was born into a Finiowsky family known to local residents and commanders thanks to his grandfather, who made a fortune on the transport of apples to Origin, where with a group of wine-makers they received Fin'e Cider known throughout the Republic. According to the legend, 8-year-old Finn once fell into the kettle with his grandfather's alcohol experiment, which made the cider even more famous, although it made Finn himself often walk as if he was blowing a mountain despite zero alcohol consumption. Since that "accident", the grandfather has felt that he has raised his grandson in the best possible way. From childhood, he instilled in him a love for the Republic and the ideals of shedding blood in a just cause. Therefore, the young Finn enlisted in the army 3.5 years earlier than the law in Veli allowed. For those less implicit or interesting backstage of this practice, the old republican adage should explain everything: "There is nothing in Colonia that you can't take care of with the right amount of alcohol." Despite being the youngest in the unit, he quickly gained the respect and esteem of his colleagues, because he did not behave like a stereotypical rich gentleman and regularly brought fresh boxes of cider from the family manufacture. In addition, the first field exercises showed the boy's courage, which only deepened the ties with the rest of the unit, which quickly forgot about the age difference. Patriotism was so strong in him that throughout the entire training period he did not hesitate, although initially, due to his age, he could not do the fitness tests as the army wanted. Fortunately, it quickly turned out that when companions are hungry, they do not stand out from the rest.
Unfortunately, the blissful idyll in the unit is over. Another war broke out on the northern border of the Veli- Cavian army once again attacked, dissatisfied with the result of the previous war. It's time for the first battle for Finn, who was nicknamed "Finio" due to his name being the same. He was thrown into the unit that had been assigned a sea landing on a beach near The Overland on Endless Shore. Each soldier in the unit received a regular assignment of the Volta Reapeater vI rifle and a bandage, characteristic of the then colonial army. Finn completed the set with a bayonet, which immediately surprised the commander's face. The boy was still much younger than most of the soldiers on either side. Even so, the lieutenant decided not to keep him. Partly because he knew very well that some "hussars" from Umbrall Wildwood were overproducing bayonets for some reason. Finn didn't know much about them, although they reportedly often stole heavy equipment, which the mecholics of SIEGE did not like. When the order was given, "Finio" and his companions boarded one of the barges and they set off on a mission.
The moment of immortality finally arrived. Our hero's barge landed on the shore and his unit was delegated to the first charge. As a matter of duty, the privates said goodbye to each other, and the unit watched the foreground bombarded by allied artillery. On that day, an officer called Szyszka was in command of his life. Back then, Finn did not know that this would be his future companion. As the heavy rumble of artillery shells ceased, a whistle screeched. It was the order to start the charge. They moved on.
The squad ran across no man's field, and the blueberries watched in disbelief as their strength was decimated by the long-haired teenager! One accurate shot from the Volta allowed to take down most of the adversaries, and the possibility of firing such 8 with a thrust was a significant advantage. Grenade explosions beat the rhythm for firing, and the loud clatter of HMGs marked the subsequent reloads of weapons with ammunition picked up from fallen enemies. Killing Warden definitely gave him satisfaction, as he shouted the words of Legion propaganda with each new enemy he was eliminated.
The fight for fortifications lasted about 30 minutes. In the trenches there was silence, screams of agony, explosions, arrows, the sounds of torn cloth and gushing blood disappeared. All that remained was the silence broken by occasional thunders from the distance. Finn looked at himself in a pool of reddened mud. He was covered in blood, although he hadn't suffered much damage himself. It was then that he realized that he had won! He survived! But ... he was alone. He was overcome by apathy, he understood that the ritual of farewell before battle was not only symbolic. He understood the "functions" the Legion had assigned him. He realized that he had become a Legionnaire - nothing more than another cog in a war machine.
Then he heard a groan from somewhere behind him. So he grabbed the bayonet, the same one he had torn from the magazine, put it on the gun, and walked over to the source of the sound. It turned out to be a hostile soldier who was trying to dig out from under the pile of bodies lying on top of him. Finio made sure he failed. After he did so, he began to check if any of his brothers survived. Unfortunately, he only found their bodies. Then he felt tired. He fell to his knees and passed out, alone in a trench, with his uniform cut and torn, his helmet damaged, all red, mud, and green.
The sound of heavy equipment woke him. Cautiously, he cocked his head to see the allied mechanized forces approach the battlefield. The hussars have arrived. He recognized the mark on the tanks, which was also on his dipstick. It was the notorious KOP. Black uniforms with a characteristic chemical mask, in heavy, oil coats, got out of the tanks and began to look at the battlefield. Finn watched them from the trench in awe when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around. One of the soldiers of the mysterious corps looked at him through the blood-red masked glass and spoke:
- "Have you already thought about your future?"
Then he extended his hand to the boy. There was a white and red badge on the sleeve and the coat of arms of the body: a white eagle on a green background.
It was a rather chilly morning. As usual, I left the barrack to the accompaniment of sirens to wake the sleeping logisticians, announcing the beginning and, at least to some of them, the end of the shift. I looked around the Blemish parking lot for the truck I had left there the night before. Logisticians turned around like ants, taking over tasks from their colleagues after the night shift. Production held the entire front and could not stop even for a minute. Several companions from the barrack flashed past me, which woke me up from my thoughts. I took a deep breath of the smog-laden air and headed towards my vehicle. After checking its condition and locks, I drove to the refinery. I had brought a lot of components there yesterday, so you should use them today. I took out all the rmatic boxes that were in my "private" queue, unloading them on a regular basis. What a moron came up with the idea to pack them only 20 pieces in a crate. Once I had filled the truck with loose rums, I moved it towards the temporarily empty garage. I parked next to the drive-in and took out the first batch of supplies. Then I started producing a tank known as the Lance-36. It was a powerful beast firing 75mm rounds, which required a crew of 5 to operate. However, the cost of this beast was also enormous - from the materials needed for it, it was possible to build 2.5 light tanks. After I had assembled the first piece, I drove it to the parking lot in front of the garage. After checking the locks and making sure the commander's hatch is closed, I went back to the garage to build another one. At the first one, as always, potential people willing to serve this BT started gathering. I have always loved the moment of handing the tank over to the crew, but first I wanted to use the materials I had prepared. After taking the third BT out of the garage and placing it in a row with the previous ones, something unusual happened.
Just as I was about to return to the garage, a LUV drove up, from which some senior officer got out. He walked over to the tanks and started shouting that all the soldiers gathered there would immediately move away from his machines. I never liked this kind of situation but it happened quite often so I knew what to do. I reloaded the gun and walked slowly over, checking the locks on my tanks once more. When I was quite close, I saw a patch with the name of the division on the officer's shoulder - SIEGE.
"These are the worst," I thought.
I aimed the gun at the guy's back and yelled, "The tanks are mine and shit to whoever they give them to." Leave my clients alone. "
The officer turned and looked at me, and his bodyguards immediately reached for their weapons.
- "Your corporal? I do not think so." he replied emotionally.
- “What you think cares about me as much as last year's snow. Get the fuck away from the tanks because you will be crazy ”with those bastards from the organized ones you had to be hard because they were overwhelmingly dominant. The officer smiled contemptuously. - "Fuck the laugh and get the tanks."
Well over my dead body. I fired twice and jumped behind the tank. It turned out that the mediocrities of his guards did not even reload the weapon. I quickly jumped into the tank and turned the turret towards them. Now I'm the one who deals the cards. Fuck I don't have ammo for this thing. The officer's eyes grew the size of tea saucers. He shouted something to his bodyguards and lifted his hands up, then tucked them behind his head. His companions followed his example. I jumped to the position of the tank commander and opened the hatch.
- "What the motherfuckers? Has softened the pipe? " I shouted at them. The officer nodded and looked at me. There was fascination and admiration on his face. - “So it's true what they said. So it's yours… ”he said the second sentence much more quietly. He looked me in the eye and said telling words that would change my life.
- "Maybe you ever wanted to become a member of the armored division?"
A few months later
The clink of steel and the roar of engines pierced the thick armor and resonated through the space inside the tank like the sounds of a thunderstorm. Along with a few other SIEGE crews, we drove towards the Umbral-Deadlands border. Our Lance-40 "Hallberd" tanks were loaded with ammunition, both for the main gun and the KM, and with guns. A fuel tanker trailed behind the column. Standard layout for a convoy going into battle, nothing more to add. As one of the officers of our division, I was the first to drive, in a command tank. Captain Trekker occasionally peeked out from the turret of the tank and looked around with binoculars. He had been oddly nervous and suspicious since this morning. Maybe it was because of the "super secret command orders" as he put it, or maybe it was because of the ubiquitous altos. I was especially curious about this word. Who the hell are these alts that are so much talked about? I've never seen one. But going back inside the tank: the atmosphere that the commander was spreading spread to the rest of the crew, so everyone looked at each other with strange expressions on their faces. The journey passed slowly, as if time had stopped. It seemed like ages before we got to the border. There, Trekker ordered the tanks to be lined up in combat and ordered all crews to leave the vehicles for the assembly.
After all the soldiers were gathered in the circle, the commander began his speech: - “As you know perfectly well, the Wardensian BTS evolved to a completely different level. Their armor allows them to start fights from longer distances and their better armor allows them to take more shots. Our MBTs, even with reinforced armor, are not able to cope with them, let alone the rest of the tanks. Therefore, with a heavy heart, I have to say this - the war is already lost and nothing can be done about it. But I will not let such skilled tankers die in this unequal fight. So I contacted the Wardensian command, and from today we can call ourselves honorary Caovians. Praise Callahan! ”. The blood drained from my face as I heard the last two words. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? However, most of the rank and file did not mind the unexpected change of sides to the conflict. They were faithful to their commander and asked no questions. My division creation system worked too well. Fuck you!
“Fuck Callahan and all of you, especially you Trekker! That's not what you promised me when you joined! The future of this division was not supposed to look like this, we did not agree to betray the Legion! " I blurted out. A horrible smile crossed the commander's face. This one, however, fell when other officers and a few soldiers with whom we had known for a longer time began to stand behind me. They stood in silence for a moment, but quickly one of them began chanting, "Down with Callahan!" and the rest joined him.
Trekker turned serious. - “Not what I expected from you. I was hoping to continue serving with you but you can see your 'ideals' differ from those of a real tanker. I didn't mean to do this, but ... Stylo, do back-up. It was nice serving you guys, ”he said and turned away. I reached for the gun, but before I could get it out, I heard the sound of a machine gun and felt pain. Senior SIEGE officers began firing at the Legion's loyalists from the PMs received from the Warden. I fell to the ground and passed out.
- "This one is also dead" I heard when my consciousness decided to come back.
- “What the fuck has gone the fuck and where is the fucking SIEGE division? They fucked up close to 6 MBTs and ran away and now we have their soldiers with tanker gear lying dead, ”said a second voice.
I heard a kick next to me.
"Dead," a third voice said shortly, "But I have a feeling the other can see something more." I felt hands on someone. I opened my eyes in pain. I saw about 6 people wearing black uniforms with strange masks. The red-glowing eyes caught my attention. If not for the symbols of the Legion on their chests and the overwhelming pain, I would have thought that I had ended up in Valhalla.
- "Oh my dear, what's wrong here?" asked the soldier standing above the visitor picking me up.
- "Fucking Trekker ... Legion ... over ..." I whispered and the familiar darkness returned. Horny, I don't know how much time has passed but I'm back from the underworld again. You can see Valhalla doesn't want me in her ranks. Their loss. I felt the mattress beneath me. So we live.
- "Get up, samurai" I heard the soldier's voice, which I remember from my flash of consciousness. “Welcome back to the living. Now get going. We have traitors to fuck.
"How it blows here", "Cold ...", "Fucking north ..." - such voices could be heard on board the OMC "Silas". However, it was in vain to look for their owners, as the darkness prevailing throughout the ship limited the field of view to about 3 centimeters in front of your own face. The prohibition of using any light sources, however, had a simple justification: the operation was top secret and the outcome of the operation depended on the fate of the entire front on the eastern islands, and any fire could betray our landing fleet. It is true that the soldiers received additional clothes to protect against the cold, but even the thickest sheepskin coat will not maintain a comfortable temperature for several hours. Apart from the sound of the engines, the splashing of water and the whispers of the soldiers, the night was unexpectedly quiet, as if even the wind was afraid to disturb us. The radio station had been silent for several hours and the order forbade me from making any unnecessary connections with other ships. Once again I looked bored towards where the bow of the ship should be. This time, however, I saw tiny golden dots in the distance. As the night was starless, there was no other option - that was our goal. Wightwalk, the least secure and at the same time closest to the main logistics city in Weathered Expanse - Port of Rime.
The operational plan was simple in assumptions, but difficult to implement: our fleet was to surprise the enemy, which in turn would allow us to capture Wrightwal without much fighting and start the ballistic missile drop operation on Port of Rime. The command needed some significant breakthrough in the war, which is why they assigned the most elite units of the Legion and a lot of equipment to this task. Barges loaded with soldiers and vehicles were to provide the momentum needed for landing, while 120mm mobile artillery loaded on ships was to provide support in a further attack towards the port. "Prepare to storm" came the voice of Operation Commander Ferrendris of the Colonial Reconnaissance Company on the radio. The soldiers closest to me shook off the daze of the cold and began to pass the message on. Soon the entire crew of the ship was tightly knit and ready to fight. Although we were not supposed to fight in the first line, it was possible that our support would be necessary.
The minutes passed in a silence broken only by the sounds of nervously checked rifles and quickly replenished ammunition. Soon sirens sounded, and flares lit the beach in front of us. From the deck of my ship, I was able to see the barges hitting the shores, leaving the soldiers there, and swimming away to make way for others. I didn't hear any shots so at the moment everything was fine. I raised the binoculars to my eyes and started to observe the whole action closer - the sappers efficiently dismantled the entanglements and anti-tank barriers under the cover of the night - the beach was clean. The reconnaissance companies pushed their way further and further. Soon the first Mass Production Tank 85K-b "Falchion" rolled onto the beach. The next one rode next to him, followed by another. Soon the first shots rang out. The Wardens finally realized what had gone wrong on the beach. But it was far too late for that - Ferrendris's men had already planted their charges under the Relic Base, and soon the night lit up and a series of blasts shook the cold air. At that moment our ships spoke. A rain of missiles covered the enemy fortifications and the infantry followed the tanks into the whirlwind of battle. It was extremely short, for I quickly spotted the warden rushing out of the trenches and bunkers and running blindly into the darkness. On the backs of some of them there were full lines of red bullet marks, especially visible in the snow covering their uniforms. They fell on their faces to never get up again. Unfortunately, some of them managed to escape and disappeared into the darkness of the night. I put the binoculars in my bag and put on the headphones. About the middle of transmitting a report, I felt a slight thump and heard a loud whine from the hydraulic lifters. The OMC "Silas" was no ordinary ship. It was a special ship from the BMS White Whale series, serving as a mobile command center for such occasions. I finished my report and scooped the radio up in my backpack, then headed for the ship's ramp. When I felt the sand and stones under my boots, I looked around: the huge lamps of the ships now illuminated the entire beach, where our logistics facilities were set up and tanks were being prepared for further combat. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a Rabbit in charge of the artillery unloading. I started down the beach looking for Captain Stalker.
The sand was hard, and had bits of bricks from blown up Relic Base. CRG seems to overdo it with the amount of loads. Soon I heard the voice of Captains Stalker and Captain Driva from a nearby tent. I went inside and spotted them over a sizable map of Weathered Expanse. "Here, here and here. I also do not exclude this place." Stalker said. Driva just nodded, then looked up to see me. He prodded the captain and pointed his chin at me, then left. Captain "Dark" waved his hand at an empty table on the other side of the tent. Without a word, I unfolded the radio station there and sat down on the chair next to it to set it up correctly. "When you're done, ask Lieutenant Rabbit if they've finished setting up the toys," the captain said to me, then lit a cigarette and left the tent. The fun with the radio took me a good dozen or so minutes. Then I made a test call to the lieutenant. - "Thor to Lightning, Lightning when you hear me, pickup" - "Loud and clear Thor. Any changes to the coordinates?" - "No Blyskawica, everything as agreed. Toys ready?" - "As always. In a few minutes we will unleash the forest hell on earth" - "Excellent. Thor no reception" I took off my headphones and looked around the tent. The captain isn't back yet. I got up from my chair and walked outside the tent. The beach was still full of Legion soldiers working on maintenance and reloading of the vehicles. Captain "Dark" was standing right next to the tent and was finishing smoking. "And how are you?" he asked as soon as he saw me. "Everything is as planned, in a few minutes it will start," I replied. The captain just nodded and took one last drag on his cigarette, then threw it to the ground and headed for the tent. I looked at the beach for the last time and followed him. At that moment I heard the roar of artillery - our people started firing. I sat down on the chair and pulled out the map to cross out the next destroyed targets as always. "Lightning to Thor, we cease fire, confirm alpha target destruction" "Here Thor, give me a moment" I quickly connected to the landing party, and shortly thereafter confirmed alpha target destruction. Moments later, I also confirmed the destruction of beta and charlie targets. In the meantime, the sounds of anti-aircraft sirens pierced the night. It was Port of Rime that issued the alarm after they discovered that we were aiming a rocket at them. Well, now the real fun will begin. However, at this point it all started to fuck.
"Thor, this is Lightning. They're fucking us! I repeat: the delta target gives us back, and it is fucking accurate!" Captain Stalker looked big. "Where do those whores get their artillery garrisons here?" he muttered. "Order our boys to undo the Rule, we'll be fine without it. It's a pity to lose people, the rocket will get rid of the delta target." "Lightning here, Thor, you are to retire to the beach immediately." "Got Thor. Lightning without pickup." This was followed by a long moment of silence. The only sounds that were distant sirens from the port. I waited anxiously for confirmation from the command about the target designation for the rocket. Then something fucking unexpected happened. "Thor, they were fucking waiting for us. It was a fucking hell ..." a deep crash ended the call. Fuck me, she can't be calm. "Angel, get the fuck up to them. Fuck the gear, the guys have to come back in full," he said, unfeigned fear in his voice. I grabbed my Argenti, leaning against the table, and ran out of the tent towards the artillery positions. The sounds of firearms carried in the night air to the company with sirens and the characteristic sound of breaking glass - that is, the Wardens had self-adhesive anti-tank grenades. I struggled through rocks and sand to reach the vicinity of the artillery position after a while. Soon after that, I saw the guys along with some CRGs. Rabbit smiled and at the sight of me said: "I see that the regiment's command cares about us, they send us all one soldier with a radio and a rifle to help us" - "Driva is not with you?" - "As you can see. If it weren't for the CRG, we would have had a tough night here. We lost one artillery anyway and the other is pretty badly damaged. We'll get to the beach, but we won't shoot anymore." - "As you can see. Luckily, I had the guys take a standard infantry kit with them." I looked at the battlefield. About 20 Warden lay dead around the artillery, which had clearly gouged holes in the ground to indicate its movement. I handed the radio over to Rabbit and went to evaluate the starts. It was exactly as the lieutenant said - one joke damaged, the other damaged, the rest looked intact.
I leaned against one of them and watched the CRGs plundering their defeated enemies' backpacks. I thought I wouldn't disdain Fiddler myself and a few magazines for him when Rabbit approached me again. "We are returning with what is left to the beach, there is no point in tempting fate" - he said and began to give orders. "You leave the ammunition, we don't have much time," Captain Stalker said over the radio. - "How do you leave the ammo? Do you know how long I did that shit?" - indignant Rabbit - "I don't give a shit how much you have done, the command has just confirmed the marking of the target. In exactly an hour there will be nothing to collect from the Port of Rime to your position. Therefore, fuck me on the barge with this joke! No pickup." The words of the captain clearly did not appeal to Rabbit, but as we know, an order is an order and literally a few moments later all the guns were launched again. It took us a good 40 minutes to deliver them to the beach, where empty barges were waiting for them. I left the artillery crew with the loading logisticians and returned to the command tent. Virtually everything inside was already taken, so I immediately packed my radio into my backpack and left. I headed towards the ship on which I came here and put my backpack at the entrance. There was no point in dismantling the radio anymore, especially since virtually all units had already withdrawn. Ours are also almost packed back on the shoulders. With the artillery secured on the shoulders, they stood and watched as more tanks returned to the beach and onto the barge ramps. It was quite an epic show, especially since their number was quite large.
Suddenly we heard shots and saw a wave of grenades falling on the last tank. Some of them bounced off the tank and fell, but some remained on the armor. Poisonous green gas began to come out of the grenades. I do not know why the tank stopped and did not respond to the partisans. Together with Captain Stalker and Private Blantey, we stood the closest, so we grabbed our weapons and went to the rescue. Unfortunately, the Wardens immediately ordered a retreat when they saw sudden movement on the beach. However, we managed to shoot at least two. When we got to the tank, we found out why it had stopped - the crew had no filters in their masks, they probably used all of them during the fighting. At that moment there was the characteristic sound of ship ramps closing. When we jumped out of the tank as we were burned, our worst fears were confirmed - the ships had already started to leave. Blaney started running towards the beach but the captain ordered him to come back. "They won't come back for us anyway. Then he looked at his watch- 5 minutes all hell will break loose here. And we will be an integral part of it", he added after a moment. - "Well, it would be good to get the fuck out of here before that happens, wouldn't it?" I said. - "What about this?" said Blantey, losing track of his shoe. - "It's a pity to leave it, especially since it's rather beyond the range of the rocket ... Okay, no need to cheat. Get in Blantey, we'll get the fuck out of this bastard!" Dark shouted and threw the dead tank commander onto the beach. I looked at the driver's body and did the same. Moments later, the dead shooter was also found in the sand. I started the engine and started turning the tank towards the road. Dark leaned out of the tower hatch and lit a cigarette.
We started. "Blantey, check your ammo supply, Angel's fuel report," the captain said after a moment. I tapped my fingers on the dashboard and rubbed the panel with my sleeve. The indicators lazily but rose to their positions. "We have half a tank, maybe a little more," I replied. "We have one round in reserve, maybe two if the previous shooter reloaded," Blantey's report left no room for illusions. We can't even think about fighting. The minutes passed to the accompaniment of the clatter of steel and the scraping of caterpillars. Eventually the captain finished smoking and went back inside the tank. He took a map out of his pocket and unfolded it, guiding his finger along the way, obviously looking for something. After a while he folded the map and said, "Angel, head southwest. I have an idea." Instinctively, I moved the lever and the tank made a characteristic turning noise. Then I moved forward at full speed.
It wasn't happening for a long time, even the terrain seemed surprisingly even. After about 40 minutes of driving, it started to get light. The sun is not the best ally when it comes to sneaking right under the enemy's nose. "Dark" slowly leaned out of the turret and looked around through the binoculars. "Angel, go further south or we'll be right at the base!" he shouted deeper into the tank and I quickly made the right maneuver. "Fuck that Relic Base should be so much further." continued the captain. There was no time to think about the accuracy of our maps though, as Blantey shouted "Wardeni with anti-tank grenades from the Relica side!" - "Angel, full speed ahead! We have to get the fuck off or it'll be hot soon." The tank groaned as it unfolded its full speed. Blantey had already started turning the turret in case of self-defense. The seconds passed in tension, however, to our relief, the Wardens from that base were not the best sprinters and were quickly left behind. Our only problem right now was the amount of fuel - colonial tanks have the thing about them, when they run at top speed, they burn much more fuel than normal. As our tank from the very beginning was more empty than full it became quite troublesome. - "Captain, we have less than a quarter of our fuel tank left." I said. - "It's not good, oh it's not" I heard in response. I can't say that I was glad to hear it. If we run out of fuel, the only option will be to march to the nearest allied base and we did not smile too much.
There was silence in the tank again. Nobody had any idea how to solve the problem of the empty fuel tank. The next minutes passed but none of us had any ideas. Additionally, in order to avoid enemy positions, we had to turn into more mountainous areas that required more fuel. Suddenly, another engine whirred through the rocks. "Dark" immediately opened the hatch and began looking for the source of the sound. It didn't take long for him. "Gentlemen, halftrack to the right!" we heard. Blantey immediately began spinning the cannon in that direction. "Don't shoot yet," said the captain. So we waited in suspense for the development of events. Halftrack was coming closer and closer, finally he also stopped and a sight peeked out from the passenger side hatch ... in a Legion uniform. Our entire crew was astonished. "Drive closer but carefully" was the order. We moved slowly towards the vehicle. When we were quite close, we heard a shout: "If you come even one meter closer, we will open fire!" - "Relax, we are on the same side. Captain James Stalker, Kraunski Regiment of Support. By a twist of fate, we were left after the landing and now we are trying to break out to our own" the captain shouted back. "Warden could say that too," was the reply. -"Warden would have fired your cannon three times already," Dark replied. The situation remained quite tense for the next few minutes, but in the end we managed to get along with the other crew. We drove up by and informed them of the situation. It turned out, however, that their fuel level is at a similar level. After a short deliberation, we decided to wait until nighttime and set out together towards the bridges leading to Protos, where the fighting was taking place. So I got out of the tank and leaned against its tracks. "For now, we will rest for a while, we will move on at dusk," said the captain, looking in the direction we came from. So I decided not to waste my time and immediately lay down on the rear armor of the Falchion, which was still pleasantly warm from the engine.
I don't even know when I fell asleep. Everyone was asleep around me when I woke up. However, the sun was already heading towards the west and that meant only one thing - we are leaving soon. At that moment, I heard the sound of rolling stones. Instinctively, I pulled the gun from my belt and aimed it in that direction. I felt time passing by unconsciously counting the beats of my heart. Then the silhouette of a soldier loomed over the hill. I waited a moment for the mysterious person to come closer and fired a warning shot. "Weapons on the ground and hands up. No tricks or we'll talk," I shouted. "So that's how officers are greeted now?" heard in response. The familiar voice of one of the CRS captains made me stupid. As the figure came closer, I recognized Driva walking with a gun on his shoulder towards the tank. I saluted. The captain smirked, "What are you guys doing here?" he asked looking at Blantey. "It's like we're late for Uber," I replied and explained the situation. "So you have no fuel?" summed up my story Driv. "It can be arranged," he smirked. "What the fuck is going on here?" Captain Stalker asked, apparently awakened by the situation. The other soldiers also got to their feet and grabbed their weapons. "Nothing fancy, I was just having a little chat with Angels," Driv replied. - "If you mean shots by a little chat, I can agree." - "Well, never mind. I heard you had a fuel problem." - "Problem? Heh, are you. We are in our ass, not our fucking problem. And not only us" Captain Stalker pointed to the allied halftrack. - "Well, I have something for you. Or rather, the Wardens do, but they probably won't be offended if we handle it ourselves" - "What do you mean?" - "Literally behind this hill there is an enemy tanker full of gasoline. A moment ago I was in it and it turns out that no one is even watching it" - "So what are we waiting for? Angel, start the tank and I will tell the others that we have solved our problem". I jumped back into the tank and after a while the engine roared. A few dozen seconds later, the halftrack engine also fired. As soon as "Dark" took the place of the commander, I followed Driva. After a few hundred meters, in the fading light of the day, I saw a tanker. I rode closer and to my surprise, I saw Captain Driva in the cab. "What are you waiting for? Refuel as much as you want today, the Wardeni are up," he laughed, pointing to the fuel lines at the rear.
Refueling both vehicles took us about 20 minutes. After that time, we moved on. Of course, we took the tanker with us. Finally, after about an hour, we reached the vicinity of the bridge leading to Protos. To our surprise, Captain Stalker did not notice any allies there. The bridge was entirely under enemy control, and on the other side, by the way, of the one we wanted to get to, there was a medium-sized bunker. Fortunately for us, the garrisons did not seem manned. However, the mere sight of them was enough for the halftrack crew to decide to retreat. They took 3 canisters of fuel, thanked us and headed back to the mountains. Both captains followed them with their eyes and then Stalker said, "Oh, such a shit. Either we run across that stupid river or we die with the tank. We've come too far to back off now." We agreed that he was right and started planning to break through to our own. But no plan seemed good enough. We finally settled on the good old improvisation.
Around midnight, we left the road and, ignoring the Warden, we went to the bridge. Either the blueberries are so stupid or we surprised them so much that they didn't know what to do. Everything seemed to be fine, but when we entered the bridge, Captain Stalker noticed a disturbing thing - anti-tank garrisons on the left side of the road were manned. So I turned as far as possible to the left side of the bridge and as soon as it was possible I left it. I ran through several crates and suddenly I noticed something strange - we drove into the middle of an enemy bunker, but there were no garrisons there! Well, the Wardeni and their shitty defenses. Unfortunately for us, the bunker was swarming with enemies. Some of them decided to hide in bunkers, others started firing small arms at the tank. Regardless of the rifle fire, I was driving forward when suddenly "Dark" shouted: "Drive over this trench! If it collapses, he will lock them in and fuck us!". As he said, I did, and soon about six Warden were buried alive in a trench and the rest were locked in a bunker with no exit. So we moved on, ignoring the screams and chaos in the enemy ranks.
When we reached the foot of the next bridge, I heard a screech of metal - one of the garrisons on the other side of the bridge somehow managed to shoot at us! Instinctively, I grazed and drove onto the bridge and Captain Driv followed me in a tanker. A second shot rang out, but this time it hit the bridge. Fortunately, the third was not there, but it quickly turned out that there was no reason to be happy. That one shot that hit us damaged our communications systems. What a lucky prick shot from this garrison. It's good that at least it didn't hit the fuel tank. But at the moment we are burnt at ours. We will not be able to contact them without a radio, and I doubt they would let us in from screaming distance. As soon as I thought this, I heard two shots and the clang of steel. Two shells hit our tank from the front, but luckily the colonium, as we jokingly call our steel, bounced both. Immediately after this, Captain Stalker jumped out of the vehicle and began running towards the allies. The next shot tore through the night and I felt a tug - well, it's our goose. Yet another shot did not come. Moments later the captain returned breathless. Somehow he managed to convince our people to let us ride closer. So we moved slowly due to the damage and after a few minutes we caught up with the two Falchions that were shooting at us a moment ago. Their crews leaned out at the sight of us and saluted with apologetic expressions. A little late for that, but well, better late than never. Behind us, Captain Driv rode proudly in his captured tanker, and Captain Stalker leaned out of the tower again, lit a cigarette and took a drag. "If I ever agree to such a fucked-up action, you can kill me" he sighed in my direction and then let out a puff of smoke.