X Combined HQ of the 12th Battalion and the 49th Division, Day Eleven of Greyfield Strikes. X

With the Lazurian threat diminished, a re-organization had been deemed necessary. The bulk of the Rubinelle units assigned to the invasion (being referred to as the 4th NRA Corps in the official documents, possible for morale intelligence purposes) were composed of only the 12th Battalion and the 49th Division now, and they were on the center island where they could direct the landing much more easily.

12th Battalion forces were already setting up a forward base on the island the Hellhound had cleared, with its small naval arm keeping the Lazurian gunboats trapped in the strait. The 49th Division was prepped and ready with their borrowed helicopters on the center island as well, now under anti-air protection Brenner had peeled from his own companies.

"If they rallied enough forces to attack the islands near the mainland, it's only a matter of time before they rally enough forces to reinforce those here," Walraven was saying as the two commanding officers and their staffs stood over the map of the main island, drawn from recon reports the carrier pilots had brought in.

"We have to secure the island before that happens," Brenner said, nodding. "Do you think the old plan could still work?" Despite the loss of a third of their planned landing force and most of their aerial and naval support, the two men had not fully scrapped the previous operation; Walraven had even suggested keeping it. His forces would still be there to hold the port and Brenner's tanks and APCs would still be there to make the main effort against the Lazurians; the core parts of the operation were still there. But now, the Lazurian had to have at least a tank battalion on the island, maybe a whole regiment even. If Walraven's infantry dug into the port and used their gunship support wisely, they could hold them off. Still, with both sides so evenly matched, it would ultimately come down to large and small-scale tactics, and the valor of the men under their command. Brenner and Walraven were both experienced, but they considered the odds too risky.

"We'll have to go all in," Walraven admitted. "I'll still use that battalion as a diversion, but I'll put the rest of my division into the port. Two thousand five hundred men should be able to hold it long enough, I think, and that'll be enough to secure the island when you push forward.

"Are we really putting that much on the line?" Brenner knew, and he had no doubt Walraven knew as well, that such a move would probably be the end of the 49th Division whether or not the operation succeeded. Walraven had no reserves to spare this time.

"For a chance to end the war? I think so." General Walraven didn't sound reluctant or weary. "And I know my men feel the same as well." So, that was what it had come to: they were willing to gamble away one of the last intact Army units if it gave them a chance of success to end such a grueling war. And now Brenner, who had never taken such dangerous chances with his battalion, would have to decide if he would do the same.

"What do you think, Lin?" Brenner asked his lieutenant. Brenner wasn't blind to his faults. He knew he was overly optimistic and would normally help anyone he could regardless of risk. And he knew his own thoughts were being skewed by the historical significance of this place. He wanted a second and impartial opinion, mostly to put his mind to ease.

"The operation could still be carried out," Lin replied. "But, with both forces so evenly matched, it will come down to equipment and tactics. Lazurian equipment is no match individually against ours, but with over half of our forces being composed of light infantry, the Lazurians have an advantage in numbers. Should we manage our own forces correctly, we can overcome that disadvantage. Regardless, casualties will be heavy, particularly for the airborne forces. Leaving the island alone is not to be considered; overall casualties will be far higher should the Lazurians fortify the archipelago and use it as a forward operating base for future incursions into Rubinelle territory."

Even through Lin's factual and deadpan voice, Brenner picked up the hidden message: conducting the landing would be the lesser of two evils. Brenner sighed and gripped the edge of the map table. After preserving his forces and never taking chances for as long as he could remember, he now had no choice but to gamble them away—and that was a hard pill to swallow. And yet, thousands of military leaders had done so throughout history, and his father as well less than two decades ago. Why was it such a hard call to make?

"We'll reassign our own air assault forces and attack helicopters," Brenner decided. "We can airlift the heliborne company and the Special Forces platoon to hold this camp right here, and eventually the entire Marine Company as well, with their tanks to land right behind them." He pointed to what was marked as a barracks on the very northeast end of the port. "That should allow us to concentrate most of our armor here." Brenner traced his finger further down to the strip of land he'd originally planned to land on. "Lin, has the enemy reoccupied these areas?"

"No sir." Lin shook her head.

"They're probably fearful of naval bombardment," one of Walraven's staff commented. Brenner's own battalion staff was at the most composed of seven people, including him and Lin. Walraven's division staff, on the other hand, had been reduced to a lieutenant colonel, a major, and a captain—his chief-of-staff and his planning and logistics people. Like Brenner, Walraven was managing most of the division's affairs, a rather sorry result of the meteors and the war that had erupted soon afterward.

"Possibly," Lin conceded, "but their gunboats have short-range missiles that might just be able to strike landing craft on the beaches."

"Have our A-10s and the destroyer escort the landers and neutralize the gunboats, with the cruiser in reserve and ready to provide artillery support," Brenner said immediately. "This plan's rickety enough. It'll be a little smoother if we have complete control of the seas."

"Yes sir." Lin nodded and left.

"I can try and organize one last bomber strike before we land," Brenner told Walraven. "My strike aircraft will be on station south of the island after the landings in case we come under artillery fire." Walraven nodded with him. "With our helicopters engaging any heavy ground forces, we just may pull this off." Despite having accounted for most of the issues at hand, Brenner couldn't muster his usual confidence.

"We'll have to, Brenner." Walraven's nod was solemn.

X Tim, later that day X

"Hope the pricks enjoyed a taste of their own medicine." I looked from the rising black smoke to the Battalion's two bombers flying away with a pair of our planes as escort. They were supposed to have struck the Lazurian bastards dug in between the port and their headquarters. We were hovering alongside Lance and Sofia (the Battalion's third attack helicopter had been destroyed in the attack because of the assholes) at the mouth of the strait and above the Battalion's ships. Four loaded transport helicopters were behind us. All we were waiting for was the attack order and we'd move in to take the port.

We must've provoked them, because their jet and prop-driven fighters took off and streaked after the bomber soon after, probably in vain. The other pair of our fighters came in and shot a few of them with machine cannon rounds right out of the sky, causing the props to pull back. The jets went up, probably in vain. The order to land came only a few minutes after the bombers left the airspace. The fighters were gone, which meant we had a clear ride in.

"This is Icarus-Six to all allied units: all enemy anti-air is grouped on the other end of the island and won't be an issue. All forces: move in and capture the port!" That wasn't the Captain, so it must have been the guy commanding the NRA forces.

"Being ordered in by another guy? That's a first," I commented as we pitched forward and flew straight on towards the port. Well, he was of higher rank, and most of the guys taking part here were his. But, I wasn't going to argue against an order to kill these guys, so complaining wasn't needed. "These guys are fucked." The transport helicopters lagged behind, but we flew on ahead. Beside us, four NRA attack copters were flying towards the port. Anyone they'd left there wouldn't stand a chance.

The place looked like a mess anyway; there were still a few fires scattered around the port. There were more than a few ships sunk in the strait, too. Hell, the Lazurian carrier was tipped over and sticking halfway out of the water, nearly blocking the whole port! We might as well fight over a garbage dump from what I could see up here.

I was a bit ticked when the NRA copters got into firing range first, since they got the best targets. At least there was plenty to go around. It was a bad day to be a Lazurian, especially if you were riding an armored vehicle. The NRA copters flew in from the north and strafed everything they saw. Then, the two of us came from the west for another strafing run. Sarah fired off two missiles, which I was certain killed some tanks.

A whole lot of Lazurian tanks and APCs were moving into the port now; they must've been deployed in the fields to counter our own tanks during their breakout. Since they were out in the open and didn't have any anti-air out here, they had not been expecting us. I knew aircraft were getting scarcer and scarcer by the day, but that was a pretty bad mistake to make—or maybe they got some bad intel. Either way, that was their loss.

As I brought the helicopter back around over the port entrance, machine gun bullets started banging off our side, making me climb higher. "Infantry down here—probably wanted to chew up our tanks before they reached the fields."

"Then they should've stayed quiet." Sarah sent cannon rounds down at them. Lance and Sofia were below us with an NRA attack copter, emptying their missile racks against the vehicles still trying to reach the port. The other three were flying low over the port, strafing infantry and vehicles as if—

"Damn." I watched one get hit by an RPG and dive straight into a building and a fiery explosion a second later. "Hope those guys got their punches in."

"Fang-Two, here; we're Winchester and RTB for bullets and gas," Lance reported before taking their helicopter up and out of danger and flying back towards the island we'd launched from, and the NRA copter that had been with them also bugged out a moment later. A dozen burnt APCs and jeeps told us they'd spent their missiles well. We still had three of ours, plus two rocket salvos. We might as well spend them and let the ground pounders clean up.

"They can get the infantry. Let's try and take out more of those vehicles," I suggested and took us back over the port itself. There was still another tank or two crawling over the rubble and trying to find some hiding spots. Sarah nailed one but the other escaped death when our missile clipped and detonated against what might've been a tipped power pole. One of the other two NRA copters took a break from raking the buildings with cannon fire and finished it themselves.

"Fang One, Griffon Flight (the NRA guys), this is Wolf Pack-Five Actual; listen up!" I recognized Lieutenant Lin's voice when she cut into the frequency. "The Lazurian fighters are returning and they seem to be launching their last Sturmoviks. Finish what you came to do and RTB till we regain control of the skies."

"Well shit," I muttered. "I'm surprised their reaction time was this bad in the first place."

"Don't push our luck," Sarah warned. "We did some damage, let's just call it a day."

"Yeah, yeah." I tried not to get agitated and started flying back. The NRA copters went their own way. Behind us was an island for the ground forces to take. Judging from the smoldering ruins we left, we knew the Lazurians didn't have much left. That meant the battle—no, the whole fucking war—could be wrapped up by the end of the day.

At least we were safe from the fighters. Screw the fuckers.

X James X

The two-story building we landed at had previously been a Naval Infantry barracks during the Great War. After the war ended, it was converted to a museum before being put back to active use by the Lazurians and then by us. It sat at the edge of the massive port, looking out to a massive highway running past what had been green fields. Now, it was our key defensive outpost, looking over a wasteland filled with burnt-out armored vehicles that had either dug in to face us or had been struck trying to flee away from the port.

Even from here, I could still hear soldiers from the 49th firing their weapons and trying to neutralize the small mechanized force that had occupied the port. Fortunately for us, the building had been empty when we entered it, and we began fortifying it. The Special Forces platoon had taken the roof, and they were to act as spotters to guide our air support to any enemy armor that tried to approach. Our company, after leaving the Humvees behind on our staging ground across the strait, had put a platoon on each floor, with Anson's platoon taking the second floor. The Marines had a platoon of them with us when we landed; once all of them had been airlifted over, they would be digging in around the building's perimeter.

Our job was to hold this port until the armor landed and rallied here for the final push. After that, it would be out of our hands, although we might be detailed to provide flank security with the Marines, together with their own tanks as well. With that thought in our minds, we dug in hard. The 49th Division had the stragglers in port put down in less than fifteen minutes after landing, and our only threat was in front of us now.

Like Sam, Mellor was out of the fight due to his injury. As a result, the lieutenant had given one of his fire teams to Riddoch and one to me. Riddoch had his men on the southern side of the floor; I kept mine near the north, and Lieutenant Anson had picked himself a sniper's perch in the center of the room. The building had a few holes knocked in it from the bombardment, and those were where we sat.

"It's going to be a slaughter if they come this way," Rockefeller told me. I was standing at one of the holes and staring out at the island. Rockefeller was prone on the other side with his machine gun pointed in that direction. Private Mills was in front of me and lying prone on the floor as well, with an AT-4 propped on his shoulder. The other two privates were just behind me. "But, I won't complain if they take all our work."

"None of us would," I told him. He looked like he had his spot taken care of, so I went to see how Karst was doing, He, Nies, and Helen were still ready to fight, even if Cerutti was out, perhaps permanently. "We good?" I asked. Karst set down the rocket launcher he was holding and nodded.

"Always, Sarge." I patted him on the shoulder as I passed. The last fire team had been Mellor's.

"Corporal Altic?" I asked.

"We're ready, sir," he confirmed. His fire team was also missing a member, who was at the medic station, but they'd be enough. We'd all be more than enough.

"Good." I turned and headed for the center of the floor. Lieutenant Anson was lying there with the radio beside him, peering through his scope at the horizon. "My squad's ready, sir."

"Good," he acknowledged without looking up. "Take up your positions and your weapons ready. While we've been promised air support, we need to be ready just in case."

"Yes sir." I jogged back over and joined Karst's team at their section of the wall.

"Think it'll really be a quiet day?" Karst asked. I looked over the torn but open fields ahead. It should've been good for us, but looking at it made me uneasy. I couldn't explain exactly why.

"This is Phoenix-Six to all units: the port is secure and the rest of the Battalion is starting to sail over here," Lieutenant Anson announced over the radio. "The ETA for A Company to land is about twenty minutes." Twenty minutes—twenty minutes and our job would be over. That wasn't very long, but still... I couldn't shake my uneasiness.

The first five minutes were tense but uneventful for us. A short air battle occurred outside and our gunship support soon returned. Even with those five helicopters hovering above us protectively, the feeling didn't evaporate. Something just felt wrong.

It wasn't till ten minutes had passed when that worry manifested itself in two shapes appearing in the horizon. "Scouts?" Karst guessed as we fished for our binoculars to get a better look.

"Anti-air tanks," I corrected. I saw the two armored vehicles approaching us along the fields. Perhaps to avoid air strikes, they put some distance between themselves. "Probably here to shoot down our helicopters or us," I said. The helicopters might've been a little at risk, but we'd be able to destroy them if they got close.

"There's something behind them," Corporal Altic called, and Karst and I lifted our binoculars back up. There was a clatter as several sets of binoculars dropped from hands slackened with shock. It was an automatic response as our eyes recognized the massive walls, the wide expanses of metal, and the pyramidal arrangement of cannons... Now I knew why the open field had unnerved me. Nearly a year ago, we'd faced a War Tank on open ground. Just weeks ago, we'd faced another on the open desert. And now we were facing two on open ground, the one place they had nothing to fear. I wouldn't be surprised if what I'd felt earlier was the raw power they gave off.

"Evacuate the building!" The lieutenant didn't even have to use the radio to be heard. "Now! Move!"

"Get up!" I shouted. They were a couple of a hundred meters away for now, but they'd soon be upon us. We picked up what we could carry and started moving. The backdoor to a street was near the building stairways, and the area briefly became a jumbled mess as our company and the Special Forces platoon made our escape at the same time.

We were outside before a proper order to fall back came over the radio, a confused jumble as both Captain Brenner and the NRA general tried to speak. But, the message was the same: all infantry forces were to evacuate before they were annihilated. The gunships above flew off to try and hold the War Tanks off, risking their very lives since the auto-cannons on the enemy's anti-air tanks were heard soon after.

"Company, on me!" Lieutenant Anson's voice rallied us in the confusion. The 49th Division appeared no stranger to this sort of retreat; I could actually see a column leaving a building further down the road and jogging away in an orderly file. It must've been a standard tactic for any infantrymen in the NRA. After a few meters away from the building, we stopped to hear the lieutenant. The Special Forces platoon was gathered just a little bit away, and the Marine platoon was coming around the building now; they'd probably cancelled the airlift operation for the rest of the Marine Company.

"Wolf Pack-Six is trying to come up with a plan now," he explained to the gathered company, "and organizing strikes to slow those things down. We've been ordered to fall back, but that's not what we're completely going to do." That last bit caught everyone's attention, especially the Special Forces and the Marines present. "There will be forces behind that tank that'll roll into this port, and they need to be held off so the rest of our forces can focus on those War Tanks."

"What's your suggestion?" Lieutenant Reed asked; in lieu of Lieutenant Park, who was wounded earlier, he was the commanding officer of the Special Forces platoon for the present. Both he and the Marine platoon commander had come over.

"We hide and wait for it to pass, and engage whatever comes after. We have enough AT." Between the four assembled platoons, I could count at least twenty such weapons slung over shoulders, including mine. "HQ is too busy right now. We need to take the initiative."

When nobody said a word, Lieutenant Anson continued. "We saw how orderly the NRA pulled back." He motioned to where I'd seen the column. "That's a standard response, and the Lazurians know it." He was forced to stop at the sound of a nearby explosion and the roar of planes—that was the promised air strikes on the two tanks. I couldn't hear the helicopters now, which hopefully meant they'd spent their weapons and fled. But, it meant the War Tanks were closer.

"They've probably done this plenty of times before." Anderson apparently picked up on Anson's train of thought.

"And they know how the NRA will react," Lieutenant Reed said in agreement and nodded.

"But not we," Lieutenant Anson and some soldiers present spoke out loud. "Exactly," the lieutenant confirmed. "We do things differently, and our force composition is different from any force they've fought before. That's why we've had an advantage over them in the past few battles—we keep surprising them."

"And here's our chance to do it again," the Marine lieutenant observed. The unmistakable roar of the War Tanks was almost upon us. They'd be here soon, and my legs were twitching with the knowledge that I'd soon be running. "We'll stay in the barracks!" the Marine shouted. "We won't give ground and we aren't running off! Isn't that right, Marines?"

"Hoo-rah!" his platoon chanted behind him as they began to run to their positions.

"We'll find our own spot!" Lieutenant Reed called out as his men began to move out. "Good luck!"

As our company began to move, I listened more carefully and knew that the War Tanks couldn't be more than a couple of a hundred yards away from the port itself—it was time to go. The various platoons split up as we fled deeper into the port. Except for the sounds of their massive engines, the behemoths weren't firing at random. Right now, they seemed to be herding us more than anything. Both were certainly in the port now and were advancing slowly. Maybe this was their attempt to push us into the sea.

Then, we saw the Battalion's A-10s and F-15s armed with unguided bombs launch another airstrike, focusing all their force on one of the War Tanks. They showed us that there was one advancing near the coast. The other was probably closer to us; their rumbling was too uneven for them to be together. I wasn't sure if the helicopters weren't back yet because they took longer to rearm, or if they were put out of action. Hopefully, the helicopters survived. For the moment, our success now lay entirely in our own armored forces, which included a War Tank of our own. If those forces could land, we'd actually have a shot at not having to go swimming—it'd be a costly shot, though. If we did our job right, our armor could focus purely on those threats.

We'd run only about half a mile further into the port; we were east of the unloading facilities and had entered the port's logistics area through a side gate, on a road between dozens of warehouses that had, or maybe still, held munitions and replacement parts for ships. It was here that we eased our run. "They'll try and secure this area for certain," Lieutenant Anson explained. "We'll set our trap here."

"Where do you want us, sir?" I asked.

"I'll take Mellor's fire teams and position on the roof of this warehouse." He pointed to the one directly to our right. "Coleman, take the left; Riddoch, the right." He pointed to the two warehouses behind us. "Conceal yourselves, and don't fire on the enemy unless ordered. Now, move!" Time was critical, so we'd already started moving as he spoke.

The gate into the loading area was unlocked and open, allowing us to maintain our running pace. The actual warehouse was locked, requiring us to bust the door open. As we got in, we saw that the inside was unbelievably dusty and even rotting in some spots; the warehouses were made mostly of wood. Despite those signs of age, there were nearly a dozen metal cargo containers that were recently moved. We could only speculate their contents as we found a maintenance stairway to the roof.

"Phoenix-Six, this is Alpha-One; we are in position," I gasped as we finally stopped running, "and awaiting further orders." Both fire teams crowded at the corner of the roof facing the road while I used the height to observe the enemy's movements. I spotted the War Tanks immediately; they did tower higher than most buildings, after all. Even at a distance, I instinctively crouched to make myself less visible. "I got eyes on the War Tanks, sir." From here, my view was the closest.

"Phoenix-Six copies; what are they doing?" I stood up a little straighter to get a better look.

"They're spaced apart and moving through the port. They aren't firing at anything; looks like they're having a hard time moving through the streets. I guess they want this place intact; they could just drive over everything if they wanted."

"Can you tell what point they're headed to?"

"Negative. From where they are, they could go anywhere."

"What else can you see?" I looked again.

"I can't see jack, sir." I looked to the sky and then out to the strait behind us. "Nothing at all."

"Understood. Comms are still overloaded. Keep an eye out, Alpha-One, and report anything you see. I'll try and get into contact with other friendly forces."

"Understood; Alpha-One out."

Damn things always throw us into chaos.I watched them in the distance. Our fighters came up again for another pass, but they obviously did little to slow them down. Hopefully, their armor was taking a lot of damage so we could take them out later. I glanced towards the sea, but I couldn't see where our landers would come ashore.

"Phoenix-Six to Company; comms just cleared," Lieutenant Anson came back on the radio. "Second Platoon is holed up with some NRA survivors closer to the edge of the base. Rest of the NRA is digging in around the strip of land where our tanks will land. Their ETA is fifteen minutes—they still have to make their way here after landing." I gritted my teeth at the news; those War Tanks were slow, but they weren't that slow. We'd be cutting it extremely close. "The Marine and the Special Forces platoons has gone dark." Either they were dead, or they were maintaining radio silence while waiting to ambush the enemy. "We've all been ordered to join the NRA forces in keeping that road open."

"Damn." I head Rockefeller mutter. We'd taken the initiative, but it hadn't worked well with the battlefield. It happens sometimes, and you just had to change gears.

"Phoenix-Six, this is Alpha-One; do they have any intel on enemy strength?" I asked as I lead my squad back onto the road.

"No, Alpha-One, but motorized and mechanized units are probably filing in behind. I'll meet you in five. Out." They really were focusing all their attention on the War Tanks. That was dangerous, but it made sense when just one could turn the whole tide of battle. I didn't want to imagine what it was like in HQ right now.

"How are we supposed to keep the road open if those things get close?" Riddoch asked as we met up on the main road. Lieutenant Anson answered his question as we cut through one lot and through a fence to reach the central area of the port.

"I suspect the War Tanks won't waste their ammunition engaging leg infantry like us. There may be an opportunity to ambush it by hiding between buildings." As tall as those things were, maybe they would have trouble seeing infantry right beside them, especially if they were hiding in buildings. That would sound a lot better if we were certain our AT weapons would even damage the thing. We knew the opposite was true, but it was our only option available. It was either that, or waiting to get killed.

Once we were out of the warehouse area, it was just about half a mile to the spot where the road split and led towards the two strips of land surrounding the strait. It was a central junction, and someone should've been holding it. All we had to do was follow the road out of the logistics portion of the base and link up with the others.

The only problem was we weren't the only ones there. A Lazurian jeep was parked on the main road just outside the entrance of the logistics area and spotted us as soon as we rounded the administrative building. A hail of machine gun fire sent Riddoch and his squad running for cover into the building, and we made a dash for the security station at the entrance. I quickly noticed that Lieutenant Anson wasn't with us and glanced back to see him down on the ground. A quick moment of panic vanished when his sniper rifle fired and the machine gun fire stopped. He'd dropped to the ground as soon as we took fire and had just shot the gunner, probably saving more than a few lives.

I came to a stop behind the security station with Karst's fire team and the other two behind me. From here I could see the doors of the jeep open as the men inside began to climb out, and one of them was certainly going to get back on that gun. "Karst, take it out!" He'd already un-shouldered the AT on his back, and a moment later the jeep went up in flames, killing the infantrymen using it as cover.

"Jeep neutralized," I called, "must've been a scout!"

"There'll be other motorized forces nearby," Lieutenant Anson realized. "Up the road, now!" The main road through the port had seen its share of the battle; parts of it were cratered and burnt-out wrecks were abundant. Either the NRA Navy or our own guys had managed to hit a few convoys passing through here. It was more than usable, and we jogged up the last quarter mile to the actual junction. Strangely, we didn't see any of our forces, impromptu barricades, or any other sign that this had been chosen as a defensive position. The NRA must've set up along the actual road instead.

We lost our chance to join them when two Gaz jeeps started speeding up from behind us, urging us forward faster. The split technically wasn't that; the entrance for the submarine pens was here, too. The road also split around the massive security station and walls in front of it, and that was where we ran to as the jeeps closed in. The station was more than big enough for the whole company to take cover in.

"The whole fucking operation fell apart!" Riddoch grunted as we all ducked behind the walls and desks. Lazuria must've invested a lot in submarine security, because the glass was holding up surprisingly well to the gunfire. "We knew Lazuria had these things, didn't we?"

"Not exactly, Sergeant." Lieutenant Anson sounded calm as always. "We got our orders based on what we knew. We can't be right all the time."

"Well, do we have a backup plan?" I asked. I looked to the door at the back of the station. "We could get outside and make a run for the sub pens. They wouldn't be able to follow us."

"No. Hold this position!" He called as he got on the radio.

"You heard him!" I called to my squad. The jeeps had realized their fire was ineffective and halted. Bastards.

"The landers hit the beach just a few minutes ago. We'll get our reinforcements soon," Lieutenant Anson informed us.

"I don't think we'll last that long!" One of Mellor's corporals were pointing out the window. "Look!" When we did, several people jumped up and others ducked even lower. Another vehicle was coming up the road.

It was one of the Lazurians' War Tanks. They'd been crawling around the rest of the port, trying to get us to abandon our positions, and now they seemed ready to finish us off. It came towards us, but didn't fire and instead rolled to a stop just a little ways behind the jeeps. If the jeeps told them we were here, they didn't seem to care. If we did try and run, they probably would.

"What the hell are they doing?" I asked out loud.

"It's holding its position," Anson stated, watching it suspiciously now.

"Why isn't it attacking?" someone asked, their voice breaking. It was strange to see them so close.

"This is fucked up!" I was pretty sure it was Nies who said that. Unfortunately, there was worse to come. The second War Tank crawled onto the road next to the other one, and both came forward together, side by side and intent on running down everything in their way.

I'd seen these things before, but I don't think I'd seen them up close as the ones right now. Then again, they'd been below me on both occasions. Now, on level ground, they seemed closer and far deadlier, if that was possible. Both were creeping up the road now, not even bothering with us–we were below them. The jeeps then began to open up with their machine guns again; with their heavy armor supporting them, they weren't going to let up.

"We're all gonna die!" someone shouted in panic. Some of our guys looked at each other with panic-stricken faces; the others simply shouldered their AT weapons and prepared for the worst. I shouldered mine as well; if I was going to die today, I would do it fighting until the end.

Suddenly, we heard something crash into the masonry. It was enough to make the ground shake even more. Through a quick glance out the window, I saw a mass of smoke and debris flying into the air just a little ways behind us. And then something suddenly rammed its way through the massive security fence to our right. The flag flying on top of it allowed us to identify it quicker than its shape.

It was another War Tank; our War Tank.

The battle seemed to pause for a moment as all three giants stopped in view of each other. The Lazurian War Tanks didn't turn to face it or fire, possibly out of confusion since they thought they were the only ones who had them. Ours wasn't as shy, and let lose a full bombardment directly against the front of the nearest Lazurian War Tank. The cannons, capable of wiping out a couple of Abrams in one salvo, didn't penetrate the armor, but it shook the Lazurian tank. When the smoke cleared, we saw that four of its five cannons were reduced to smoldering hulks of metal. That one salvo was the only free one our tank got; the Lazurian gunners remembered their training as six massive rounds rocked the 12th Battalion's War Tank back an inch seconds later, yet did not pierce the armor.

A heavy exchange then began, our War Tank against two of theirs. The Lazurian jeeps fled as soon as it began. Multiplied by three, the sound made us cover our ears for fear of going deaf. Round after round was fired as all three tanks were hit but in no way visibly damaged. Fire and smoke would engulf and block out one of the War Tanks, but it would fire a second later and clear the smoke surrounding it.

Dear God... It was the only thought I had while I watched the exchange. These machines—abominations in themselves–that had killed so many of our own, terrified thousands more, and had gone through almost anything we fielded against them, were now locked in a fight to the death with each other. It was a sight I'd never imagined before. There was something strangely unreal about watching the slugging match between the three machines.

More tanks joined the fight: a company of our Abrams had finally made it out of the port, and the T-55s the Lazurians had began to rally around their own War Tanks. There had to be at least twenty tanks crowded into this small area, firing at targets less than half a mile away. Even at such a short distance, shells were still going astray and hitting the nearby buildings. We all ducked as one exploded at the side of the security station, but thankfully left what little was remaining standing. Getting back up, it was obvious now that the smaller tanks were keeping each other busy while the War Tanks focused on each other, some of them exploding as they got lucky hits.

Another stray tank shell nearly hit us, and we ducked. Fascinating or not, it was too dangerous to keep watching. We were all huddled in the rubble for I don't know how long. Five minutes? Thirty? All the while the battle raged just outside. We didn't dare lift our heads until we heard three colossal explosions, the likes of which could only be produced when one of those things blew up. Both our Abrams and the T55s stopped firing, and we all looked back up.

All three monstrosities had joined the graveyard of vehicles the area had become; they sat smoldering, all wrecked beyond saving. Even ours, our one trump card, was destroyed; no survivors emerged from the hatch. Its crew had fought on to the last minute of their lives while the tank fell apart around them. Their sacrifice wasn't in vain: two of the enemy's own unstoppable war machines, to say nothing of their T55s, had been destroyed. Those men had done a unparalleled deed for their country.

After what seemed an eternity of silence, and realizing what advantage they had was already lost, the surviving Lazurian vehicles began popping smoke to cover their retreat. Our tanks and APCs, on the other hand, surged forward and disappeared over the horizon. Perhaps to make a point, some of the Abrams rammed into and pushed the mass of burnt-out Lazurian tanks off to the side as they went by. I was certain I saw some of the men in the APCs flipping off the War Tanks as they passed them, too.

"Look at it," I heard someone say. "Not even those War Tanks could save them. They probably realize its over already."

"Most likely," Lieutenant Anson said in agreement. Then he added, without the least bit of exaggeration: "Too bad it won't stop them from fighting."

He was right. Throughout history, men had fought on for lost causes, wanting to die in battle instead of living in shame and defeat. Everything was on the line for Lazuria. They'd fight to the last man just because of that.

Hopefully, they wouldn't drive us to do the same.