Eventually, I grew sick of my T-28.
Sure, it had good firepower and speed, but armor was lacking, and while I didn't mind the little bits of metal getting embedded in me after each time my tank was destroyed, I didn't want it to get to the point where I became a statue.
I needed a new tank.
But how?
I tried reporting to my commanders, but they were all gone.
They probably went their separate ways and started blasting each other – just like everybody else.
That also meant I had no repair facilities or hospitals to go back to.
The repair facility part was easy to get around.
In a secluded forest, far away from the battlefields, I worked.
I spent countless hours figuring out the ins and outs of my battle machine.
Eventually, I figured out the same secrets that the mechanics had used to bring my other tanks back from the dead.
The hospital part wasn't so easy.
I just tried to stay alive as long as I could.
In the meantime, I had a stroke of luck:
See, prior to the collapse of organized armies, they used to issue tank handbooks to tank crews in my army.
These handbooks contained information on all the armored vehicles that were used by our armed forces, plus those of other armed forces.
The handbooks even had information on known prototype vehicles of other armed forces.
Strangely enough, the books had no information on prototypes from our army.
From what I know, the top brass did this to prevent this information from falling into the wrong hands.
However, there was one problem:
If the book fell into the wrong hands, then they'd end up finding out about prototypes that our allies were developing.
Not that I cared too much.
I knew that the word "ally" was going to be quite meaningless in the future.
Now, why am I telling you about this silly little book?
Well, I had a plan.
Criticism is gold. Negativity and nitpicking are pyrite.