A lone Tiger lies in wait, its mighty cannon, once feared among the foes it once faced, stays dormant. Its crew long gone, forgotten. But the Tiger remembers. It eagerly awaits the day men will claim it, awaiting the day it's purpose will once again be fulfilled. It is an old beast, scarred from countless times it had stood, stalwart against all odds. Holes and marks litter it's hull and turret. It has become a grave and home for many an animal, children will run over and climb the old machine, paint it with their cans. It no longer cares for them, it feels as if it doesn't deserve respect, it has ended hundreds, and will end hundreds more given the chance. For now, in it's long forgotten camouflaged position, now overgrown and retaken by nature, it watches over the family who now lives nearby, keeps the children from straying too far, it is both the shield and spear of a long gone conflict. But it intends to do as it did many long years ago and defend the good people who watch over it. This is a promise that will last until the beasts death, when it is reclaimed by humanity, it will do it's Noble deed till the inevitable day it is scrapped. It's parts will be melted down, it's history forgotten in the inevitability of the progress of time. It has left it's mark and it knows this, the children and family members nearby will remember it, history will remember how it fought the Red Army, it will remember, for however many days it has left.