Stellar year 2148, May 20th
Republic of San Magnolia
Somewhere inside the District 86
"NATO, mount your Victors!" Paul's voice boomed over the comms as he climbed up onto the hulking Abrams. The steel giant seemed to roar to life as its engine revved, a deep, guttural growl that echoed across the battlefield.
Beside him, Theodore pulled open the hatch and dropped down into the loader's seat, his movements fluid and practiced. Greg was already locked in the gunner's seat, his hands deftly maneuvering the controls as he prepared for the next engagement.
On their flank, Noah and his Challenger crew moved in perfect unison. The sound of boots clanging against steel rang out as the team swiftly mounted their British behemoth. Noah's commanding voice could be heard faintly as he barked orders to his crew, each man slotting into position like the pieces of a well-oiled machine.
Further back, Elijah and his crew prepped their Bradley. Matteo stood by the mortar mount, giving it one final inspection, while David slid back into the driver's seat, his hands expertly running over the console as he performed the startup procedure.
Alright, guys, here's the deal," Paul's voice came through the comms, steady but commanding. "The Major's plan worked, and Kaiser is on their way towards the Grand Mur as we speak. We need to intercept them and help them get out."
A brief silence followed as everyone processed his words. Paul's tone hardened, leaving no room for argument. "The Mortar systems out there are old, probably aren't even working anymore, but we ain't taking any chances! This is a NATO operation. The Juggernauts are staying home. This only concerns us."
Behind the two Main Battle Tanks, Elijah glanced at his crew, nodding toward Matteo and David. "You heard the man ladies! You know what to do!"
Inside the Challenger, Noah's voice echoed through the cramped interior, filled with determination and pride. "Alright, lads! This is our time to shine!" He slammed his fist against the turret wall, the metallic clang reverberating through the tank. "Let's show these Republic cunts what the Queen's steel can do!"
The crew exchanged quick, knowing glances as they settled into their stations, their movements practiced and precise.
"You know what to do, lads!" Noah continued, his tone growing sharper, filled with a sense of urgency. "Let's save our German brothers and sisters and remind everyone out there what British armor is made of!"
"Loader ready!" Jasper barked, slamming a HEAT shell into the breach with practiced efficiency.
"Gun ready!" Jack added, his eyes locked on the targeting systems, fingers resting just above the firing controls.
"Driver ready!" Arthur called from his compartment, the engine roaring to life beneath him, a low growl that promised raw power.
Noah smirked, gripping his hatch tightly. "Music to my ear lads. Let's bring our friends home. Driver, Forward!"
The Abrams rumbled forward, leading the column with its turret scanning left and right. Its imposing frame rolled over the uneven terrain, the powerful growl of its engine echoing through the night. Processors standing nearby waved them off, some cheering faintly, others giving silent salutes as the NATO tanks departed.
Behind the Abrams, the Challenger moved with deliberate precision, its barrel angled slightly upward, a quiet testament to its readiness to engage. Noah kept his hatch open, his determined gaze fixed on the path ahead while his crew settled into their roles with calm efficiency.
At the tail of the column was the Bradley, moving at a steady pace. The turret hatch was open, with Elijah and Matteo perched on top, grinning and waving back at the Processors. Matteo let out a whoop, earning a few laughs from the gathered crowd. Elijah raised a hand in a mock salute, his usual smirk in place.
"See you when we're back, kiddos!" Elijah called out, his voice brimming with confidence as he waved from atop the Bradley's turret.
Raiden, one of the Processors standing on the sidelines, gave a casual wave, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm counting on that!" he replied, his voice steady despite the weight of the situation.
Matteo leaned out slightly, his grin wide as he looked down at Raiden. "Don't do anything stupid, yeah!" he shouted, the teasing edge in his tone breaking some of the tension.
Raiden smirked and crossed his arms. "You first," he shot back, his words laced with dry humor.
As the NATO column rumbled further away, Raiden's smirk faded, replaced by a look of quiet determination. Without turning, he addressed Kaie, who stood nearby, her arms crossed as she watched the tanks disappear into the distance. "They better come back in one piece," he said, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken concern.
Kaie nodded, her usual teasing demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness. She reached up, tucking a loose brown strand of hair behind her ear as she replied, "If they don't… we'll be in a world of hurt." Her tone was steady, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.
Raiden finally turned to glance at her, his expression mirroring her concern. "We'll hold the line if it comes to that," he said, his voice firm, yet there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
"I just hope there will be a line to hold," Kaie said quietly, her voice heavy with worry. "If the Legion comes at us full force… I mean, our odds haven't been this high since the NATO guys showed up. If they die now… we're going to be next." Her voice faltered, and a tear threatened to spill over.
She turned slightly away from Raiden, quickly wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand. When she faced him again, a faint smile lingered on her lips, as if trying to mask the vulnerability she had just shown.
Raiden noticed. Of course, he did. But he chose not to comment, understanding the weight she carried. Instead, he folded his arms and stared out at the horizon where the NATO vehicles had disappeared, his expression somber. "Yeah," he said finally, his tone low but firm.
Kaie took a deep, shaky breath, her resolve wavering as she stared at the ground. Finally, she did something she hadn't done in years—she opened up. "You know, Raiden… I'm scared," she admitted, her voice trembling as she stopped trying to mask her emotions.
Raiden glanced at her, startled by the raw vulnerability in her tone. He stayed silent for a moment, letting her continue if she wanted to.
"I've lost so much already," Kaie continued, her words shaky but growing steadier. "My friends, my family… And now, we're hanging everything on those NATO guys. If they don't make it… if this doesn't work…" Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, struggling to find the right words.
Raiden's gaze softened, and he unfolded his arms, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Kaie, you're not alone in this," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "We're all scared. But we've got to keep going. That's all we can do."
Kaie looked up at him, her eyes glassy but resolute. "I know… I know," she whispered. "It's just… I don't know if I can take losing more."
Raiden squeezed her shoulder gently. "None of us want to lose anyone else. But as long as we're still here, we'll fight. For them, for us, for everyone who didn't make it. That's how we honor them."
Kaie nodded slowly, wiping her eyes again and taking another steadying breath. "Yeah… you're right." She managed a faint, bittersweet smile. "Thanks, Raiden."
He gave her a small nod, his hand falling back to his side. "Anytime."
Back with the NATO column, the mood was strikingly different from the somber atmosphere at the base. Inside the vehicles, laughter echoed as the soldiers cracked jokes and exchanged light banter, trying to keep the tension at bay. The roar of engines and the steady rumble of treads against the ground provided a rhythmic backdrop to their camaraderie.
In the Abrams, Paul leaned back in his commander's seat, grinning as he spoke over the radio. "Alright, Guys, how about a little challenge? First Victor to spot the Panther gets free drinks if we ever get back home. Deal?"
Noah, in his seat inside the Challenger laughed and replied in his thick british accent. "Count me in mate. Yer gonna lose that bet Captain!"
Elijah's voice crackled confidently over the comms, cutting through the rumble of engines. "Wrong, Lieutenant! Both of you are gonna lose this bet, because we—inside the superior Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicle—are taking the victory on this one! Mark my words!"
Matteo's laughter came through loud and clear. "Oh, please. The Bradley? Don't make me laugh brother. You guys stand no chance against the superior tech of the Abrams."
David chimed in from the driver's seat, smirking as he pushed the vehicle's throttle forward. "Hey, we may not have a 130mm cannon, but we've got speed and eyes on top! Gunny got the binoculars; I'll bet we're already halfway to spotting that Panther!"
Back in the Abrams, Paul rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a chuckle. "You're dreaming, Warpig. I'll give you a shiny penny if you spot them before we do."
The Challenger's intercom came alive with Noah's amused voice. "Superiority, he says! The Bradley's nothing more than a glorified tin can with wheels. Good luck keeping up with real tanks, mate."
Jack, snorted. "They don't even have a kettle in there for tea. How can they call it superior?"
Elijah shot back, undeterred. "Glorified tin can, huh? Say that again when I roll up next to that Panther, waving at you from the hatch!"
The banter bounced between the vehicles as the NATO column continued its journey. Despite the playful competition, every soldier knew the stakes, and the lighthearted exchange only served to tighten their bond as they pushed forward into the unknown.
Between the trees and the slight fog, the first signs of the Grand Mur came into view. Its imposing defenses loomed in the morning light: multiple anti-tank turrets stationed strategically, guarding a treacherous minefield laden with anti-tank and anti-personnel mines.
"Gunner, target, HEAT," Noah ordered as the Challenger's turret adjusted, locking onto an automated gun.
"Identified!" Jack called back, his tone calm and collected.
The interception cannon for this section of the Grand Mur stood tall, its barrel glinting ominously in the sunlight.
Inside the Abrams, Paul issued his own command. "Gunner, target, SABOT!"
"Identified!" Greg replied crisply as the Abrams lined up its shot.
Through the comms, Elijah's voice joined in from the Bradley. "This is Warpig. TOW missile armed and ready for action!"
Paul gave the final order. "All stations, fire!"
The Challenger and Abrams roared in unison, their shells screaming through the air. Both rounds struck the interception cannon, shattering its structure and rendering it a smoking wreck. Seconds later, the Bradley's TOW missile streaked in, delivering a final blow and collapsing the cannon in a fiery explosion.
Paul's voice cut through the comms. "Warpig, take point. We need you to clear this minefield."
The Bradley moved to the front of the formation, stopping just short of a weathered sign that read "MINES" in bold, red letters. Elijah leaned out of the turret and gave a thumbs-up as he activated the M60 VIBE system.
The VIBE—short for Versatile Indirect Battlefield Eliminator—was the cutting-edge successor to traditional mine-clearing systems. Unlike the older M58 MICLIC that required a rocket-propelled line charge, the VIBE utilized advanced EMP and radio-frequency bursts to detonate or disable mines safely. Compact and vehicle-integrated, it was designed to clear wide paths through minefields with precision and efficiency.
The Bradley hummed as its missile launcher rose into position once more. However, the missile nestled within wasn't the familiar TOW system; it was the VIBE system. How the system came to be known as "VIBE" remained something of a mystery. Officially, its designation in the manuals was the TOW-GRM, standing for Tube-launched, Optically-tracked, Wire-guided, Growler Missile. But somehow, the nickname "VIBE" had gained traction across the ranks, and the two names were now locked in a friendly yet persistent debate across NATO forces.
Rumors swirled about the origins of "VIBE," with some speculating that the notorious E-4 Mafia—the enlisted personnel renowned for their resourcefulness and knack for bending rules—had a hand in coining the term. No one had the nerve to confront them directly about it, of course. Others suggested the name came from the missile's unique functionality: its capacity to use advanced radio-frequency bursts to "vibrate" minefields into detonation. Whatever the truth, the name had stuck.
When the VIBE system was formally introduced in 2067, its developers and military leaders used the nickname during its debut announcement. The General in charge of the rollout referred to it as "VIBE" during his speech, and that was all it took for the moniker to spread like wildfire. While the manuals insisted on "TOW-GRM," most soldiers in the field had long since adopted the catchier, less formal term.
Elijah, aware of the ongoing debate but unconcerned with semantics, toggled the launcher controls. "Firing VIBE in three, two, one…" He sent the VIBE missile streaking toward the minefield. As it zipped above the deadly terrain, its electronic warfare payload activated, sending out precise bursts of energy.
The spectacle that followed was both mesmerizing and terrifying. Row after row of mines detonated in rapid succession, less than a second between each explosion. The chain reaction illuminated the minefield with a staccato of brilliant flashes, accompanied by the deafening roar of detonations.
When the wire-guided system reached its limit, the missile continued on its trajectory unsteered, its engine burning out a few moments later. The resulting corridor was wide enough for the NATO vehicles to advance side by side, but none of the crews were eager to take unnecessary risks.
"We've got our path," Elijah reported confidently over comms. "But I wouldn't recommend testing the edges of it. Let's keep it tight."
Paul gave a nod from the Abrams' hatch and keyed his mic. "Iron Horse moving up. Wardog, follow us through. Warpig, take the rear and watch our six."
As the Abrams took point and began navigating through the cleared terrain, Paul activated the Para-RAID device he'd borrowed from the Processor. He knew the Republic was monitoring their movements closely—especially after the chaos caused by the Panther—and he waited patiently for them to initiate contact. It didn't take long.
"This is the Republic of San Magnolia. You are trespassing on Republic territory. Turn around 180 degrees immediately or you will be fired upon by the automated interception system!" came a stern voice through the Para-RAID. The tone carried the unmistakable arrogance Paul had come to expect.
Paul smirked, his tone calm but laced with authority as he replied. "This is the Commander of the M1A5 Abrams speaking. Let me make myself clear: open the gate of the Grand Mur immediately and allow the tank currently causing havoc in your city to exit, or we will personally turn your so-called 'automated interception system' into scrap."
There was a moment of static-laden silence on the line, likely as the operator processed Paul's audacious demand.
"You are in no position to make demands, foreign invader," the voice snapped back. "You will comply, or we will take—"
Paul cut them off, his voice hardening. "Spare me the theatrics. Your automated system couldn't even touch us if it tried. We've already dismantled one of your 'interception cannons' like it was made of tin. Do you really think we won't do the same to the rest? Open the gate, or we'll open it ourselves."
The line went silent again, the tension palpable as Paul waited for a response. Noah's voice crackled through their internal comms. "What's the bet these Alba bastards are scrambling like headless chickens right now?"
Paul let out a dry chuckle. "Bet? No need. They've already lost their heads." Returning to the Para-RAID, he added, "This is your last warning. Open the gate now, or we will consider you hostile and act accordingly."
This time, the silence was longer, broken only by the rumble of the tanks advancing steadily toward the gate.
"This is your last warning!" came the panicked response from the San Magnolian operator. Almost immediately, the automated turrets on the Grand Mur began swiveling toward the NATO tanks, their barrels locking onto the advancing vehicles.
Paul smirked as the Abrams suddenly halted, its turret elevating a tube from the rear compartment. "Deploying Trinity," he announced over the comms, his tone calm and deliberate.
With a solid thump, the loitering drone launched skyward. Its propeller whirred to life as its wings extended, and it climbed swiftly into the air. Once it reached its programmed altitude above the Grand Mur, the fuselage split open, releasing nine submunitions in a precision strike.
The submunitions spiraled downward, zeroing in on their targets—the unarmored automated turrets. Each impact was followed by a fiery explosion as the ammunition within the turrets cooked off. One by one, the defenses of the Grand Mur fell silent, consumed by flames and shrapnel.
Nine fiery detonations lit up the early morning sky, the smoke billowing upward like columns of defeat. The rumble of collapsing machinery echoed through the air, leaving the once-imposing defenses crippled.
"I've got three more of those," Paul said, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge. "Are you opening the gates, or do I need to clarify my point further?" A smirk spread across his face as he waited for a response.
The Para-RAID crackled with static, and the San Magnolian operator's voice returned, this time shaken but still holding a veneer of defiance. "Y-you are violating sovereign Republic territory. Turn back now, or—"
Paul sighed, cutting off the San Magnolian operator with an edge in his tone. "Open the damn gate, or I'll open it myself."
Switching seamlessly from the Para-RAID to his radio, Paul hailed Noah. "Wardog, contact Kaiser and get me a SITREP. Over."
"Roger that, Iron Horse. On it. Over," Noah replied. Then, using his own radio, he connected to Kaiser. "Kaiser, Kaiser, this is Wardog. How copy, over?"
For a moment, static filled the air until Adrian's strained voice finally cut through. "Wardog, this is Kaiser. I read you Lima Charlie. Over."
"Roger, Iron Horse is requesting a SITREP. Over," Noah relayed.
Adrian responded quickly, his words clipped and urgent. "We're in approaching the Grand Mur in District 81. We're being pursued by at least a dozen of those spider tanks. Winchester on the 30 mike mike, and almost out on the machine guns. Medical is a priority—one of my crew took a round straight through the thigh and has lost a lot of blood. How copy, over?"
"Solid copy, Kaiser," Noah replied. "Stand by, we'll relay to Iron Horse. Over."
Switching back to Paul, Noah transmitted the update. "Iron Horse, SITREP from Kaiser: They're nearing the Grand Mur in District 81. They've got at least a dozen hostiles on their six, are Winchester on the 30 mil, and almost out of ammo for the MGs. They've got a crew member with a leg wound, severe blood loss. Over."
Paul's jaw tightened as he processed the information. "Copy that, Wardog. Relay to Kaiser: Push to the Wall. We'll open it one way or another. Over."
"Wilco, Iron Horse," Noah replied. Switching back to Kaiser, he transmitted the message. "Kaiser, Kaiser, this is Wardog. Push to the Wall. Iron Horse says they'll open it one way or another. How copy?"
"Copy that, Wardog," Adrian replied, his voice still tense but carrying a hint of relief. "We're on the move. Kaiser out."
Paul exhaled, his focus snapping back to the Grand Mur looming ahead of them. The static-filled Para-RAID sprang to life again with the San Magnolian operator's voice.
"You are in direct violation of Republic sovereignty! Turn back immediately, or we will—"
Paul interrupted, his voice cold and unwavering. "Fuck you!" he barked, cutting the man off mid-sentence. Then, with a calm that belied his fiery words, he barked another order. "Gunner, put an HE through that gate!"
Greg grinned, eager to comply. "On it!" he said, swiveling the turret to line up the 130mm cannon with the steel gate of the Grand Mur. The Abrams groaned as its turret adjusted to the target, the barrel lowering slightly to ensure maximum impact.
The Para-RAID crackled with frantic voices from the San Magnolian side. Panic broke out as officers shouted over each other, their composure unraveling in real-time. "Wait! Stop! What are you—?! You can't—!" one of them stammered, their tone a mix of terror and disbelief.
Paul smirked, relishing their chaos. "Too late," he muttered under his breath.
"HE up!" Theodore called from the loader's seat, slamming the breach shut.
"Fire!" Paul commanded
Greg didn't hesitate. "On the way!" The cannon roared, the shockwave shaking the tank as the high-explosive round screamed toward the steel gate. The warhead slammed into the Gate and tore a truck wheel sized hole into the metal.
Paul tuned out the chaos from the Para-RAID as the San Magnolians descended into panic. His focus was on the hole they had just blown through the gate. Through the lifting smoke, the city beyond came into view, its buildings stark against the morning light.
"Kaiser, this is Iron Horse!" Paul called over the radio. "The structural integrity of the gate is compromised. Just drive through it!"
"Roger that! I see the gate!" Adrian's voice crackled back. "I'm blasting right through it!"
Inside the Panther, Adrian's eyes remained glued to the commander's sights as he addressed Emma. "Emma, spin the turret back!" he ordered.
There was no reply.
"Emma, spin the turret!" he repeated, his voice rising.
Still, no response.
"Emma?!" Adrian's voice grew frantic as he turned his head. The sight before him made his stomach drop. Emma was slumped in her seat, pale and motionless. The blood loss had finally caught up to her.
"Shit. EMMA, WAKE UP!" Adrian shouted, reaching over and tugging at her shirt, his voice cracking with desperation.
"Otto, Emma's out cold! Fucking floor it!" Adrian yelled through the intercom, his voice strained and panicked.
"I'm on it!" Otto replied, his voice tense but steady. "Just keep her alive, Adrian. We'll get her out of here!"
Adrian gritted his teeth, shifting his focus between the console and Emma. "Come on, Emma. Don't you dare leave us now."
Adrian quickly engaged the turret controls, manually spinning the turret 180 degrees to align it backward, ensuring the gun wouldn't be damaged during their charge through the gate. His movements were swift and precise, despite the rising panic in his chest.
"Otto, I see the gate!" Adrian shouted into the intercom, his voice steady but urgent. "FLOOR IT!"
"Copy that!" Otto barked back. With a firm grip on the controls, he slammed the accelerator, the Panther roaring to life as it barreled forward, building momentum with every meter.
The damaged gate loomed closer, the jagged edges of the blast hole glowing faintly from residual heat. Adrian glanced over at Emma, her pale face and shallow breaths gnawing at him. He reached over and tightened the tourniquet on her leg even further, his hands trembling slightly with urgency.
A guttural roar escaped Emma's throat, jolting Adrian. Her eyes shot open as she thrashed briefly in her seat, teeth clenched in agony.
"SCHEISSE!" she bellowed with all her might, her voice rasping but unmistakably alive.
Adrian's relief was immediate but fleeting. "Emma! You're awake!" he shouted, his voice a mix of exasperation and relief.
Emma blinked rapidly, trying to focus. "What the hell did you do?! That hurts like—!" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes locking onto the chaos outside the Gunner's optics. "Wait, where are we?!"
"We're almost there. Stay awake till then, okay?" Adrian said firmly, his voice carrying an edge of urgency.
Emma opened her mouth to reply, but a deafening crash reverberated through the Panther, cutting her off. The tank jolted violently, throwing her slightly against her seat.
Through the headsets, Otto's voice erupted with unrestrained glee. "YEAH, BABY! Turned that gate into fucking scrap metal!" he yelled, his excitement unmistakable.
Adrian smirked despite the tension, his hands steady on the controls. "Don't celebrate yet, Otto! We're not out of this hellhole just yet!"
Emma groaned, adjusting herself in the seat with a wince. "Tell him to save the victory dance for when we're actually safe," she muttered, her usual sarcasm returning.
The Panther roared forward, leaving behind the shattered remains of the gate as the crew pressed on toward freedom, each of them knowing the fight wasn't over yet.
"Kaiser, this is Iron Horse. We've got eyes on you now! Keep rolling forward and do not deviate from your course—just straight ahead!" Paul's voice came through, firm and resolute as the Panther finally came into view.
Behind the German tank, a swarm of Juggernauts emerged from the smoke and debris, their guns blazing. The Panther absorbed most of the attention, its imposing frame cutting through the chaos as rounds ricocheted off its armor.
"Enemy Juggernauts, twelve o'clock!" Elijah called out inside the Bradley.
Paul was already on it. "Loader, HE! Gunner, engage!"
"HE up!" Theodore confirmed, slamming the round into the breech.
"Fire!" Paul barked. A thunderous roar followed as the 130mm shell blasted through the air, hitting a group of Juggernauts and detonating in a fiery explosion.
To the side, the Challenger veered slightly to the right, its turret swiveling smoothly to track targets. "Gunner, HEAT! Tank left!" Noah commanded.
"Identified!" Jack replied, his finger steady on the trigger.
"Fire!" The Challenger's gun unleashed a shell that tore through the front armor of an unlucky Juggernaut, sending it sprawling in pieces across the battlefield.
Meanwhile, the Bradley took the far flank, its Bushmaster autocannon spitting out precise bursts of 35mm rounds. "Engaging Juggernauts!"
The Panther pressed forward through the chaos, its crew tense but focused. "Keep them off us!" Adrian yelled over the radio, the sound of enemy fire relentless.
Inside the Abrams, Paul's Para-RAID crackled to life once more, the panicked voice of the San Magnolian officer cutting through the chaos. "This is an act of war! Surrender at once!" the man shouted, his tone teetering between fear and fury.
Paul's lips curled into a grim smirk. "Yeah, yeah. Talk to me when you guys grow some balls and fight your own wars," he retorted coolly before switching off the Para-RAID. He didn't have time for empty threats—his focus needed to be on the task at hand.
"Loader, HE! Gunner, keep those rounds going!" Paul barked as the Abrams rolled forward.
"HE up!" Theodore confirmed, readying the next round.
"Send it!" Paul ordered, his voice sharp with command.
Greg pulled the trigger, and another high-explosive shell erupted from the Abrams' barrel, obliterating a Juggernaut that had been bearing down on the Panther's rear. The battlefield was chaos, but Paul thrived in it, his mind locked onto one objective: get Kaiser out alive.
The battlefield fell eerily silent as the remaining Juggernauts, their numbers severely diminished, finally heeded their better judgment and began retreating into the haze of the morning fog. Their metallic forms disappeared one by one through the hole they came through.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!" Paul bellowed over the Abrams' comms, his voice cutting through the tense quiet. "They're retreating!"
The Challenger and Bradley quickly complied, their turrets swiveling back into a neutral position.
"Confirmed," Noah's voice came through. "Wardog standing by. Hostiles are no factor or retreating."
Meanwhile, the Panther finally caught up with the main column, its battered frame and scorched paint a testament to the chaos it had endured. For a brief moment, the four NATO vehicles seemed to pause, as if silently acknowledging each other's resilience.
Paul broke the silence. "Alright, everyone. No time to lose. Double tap to the base!" His voice carried the urgency of their mission.
The Bradley spun on the spot, its treads grinding against the dirt as it maneuvered to retrace their route through the cleared corridor. It rumbled forward, sticking closely to the safe path that Elijah's VIBE system had carved through the minefield. The Challenger followed suit, its turret sweeping briefly to cover the rear before locking forward.
Paul's Abrams was next, turning sharply to align itself behind the Challenger, while the battered Panther brought up the rear. Adrian, gripping his controls tightly, kept one eye on the Panther's gauges and another on Emma's condition, the wounded gunner barely conscious but stable for now.
As soon as the last vehicle cleared the minefield, the column's tempo shifted. The drivers floored their accelerators, engines roaring like thunder across the rugged terrain. The convoy tore through the countryside at breakneck speeds, pushing their machines to the limit.
At 70, sometimes 80 kph, the tanks and Bradley barreled forward, bouncing violently over craters, shattered tree stumps, and uneven ground. Suspension systems groaned under the strain, and inside each vehicle, the crews held on tightly to avoid being thrown around.
The drive back to base was surprisingly uneventful. No Legion ambushes, no retaliatory strikes from the Republic. The silence on the battlefield was almost eerie, but no one in the convoy was complaining. They were exhausted, and the lack of opposition was a welcome reprieve.
As the NATO vehicles approached the outskirts of the base, the silhouette of the facility came into view. Gathered outside were dozens of Processors, their eyes fixed on the approaching column.
"They're already waiting for us," Noah commented over the comms, a hint of relief in his voice.
The tanks and the Bradley rolled into the base minutes later, engines rumbling like a triumphant symphony. As the column entered, the Processors erupted into cheers, their voices ringing through the air in celebration of the NATO forces' return.
Unbeknownst to the cheering crowd, the Panther crew's situation was dire. Inside the German tank, Adrian glanced at Emma, whose pale complexion and labored breathing told him they were running out of time.
"Hang in there, Emma," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the Panther's hum.
The crews dismounted their vehicles in a flurry of urgency. The Bradley's rear hatch slammed open, and Elijah and David emerged carrying a stretcher, with Matteo trailing close behind, clutching a first-aid kit.
The cheering from the Processors faded completely as they watched the scene unfold, their confusion and concern growing with every passing second.
"Let's move! Get her out of there!" Paul barked, sprinting toward the Panther with his full combat gear still strapped to him. Theodore and Gregory followed close behind, each gripping a first-aid kit of their own.
From the Challenger, Arthur climbed out of the driver's hatch, already shouting, "I need an IV with O-Negative! O-Negative, now!" His voice carried a tone of authority that made even the most hesitant Processors flinch.
At the Panther, Noah and Jack managed to open the Hatch from the outside while Otto and Adrian unsealed it from the inside. Noah grabbed down, gripping Emma's Vest on the shoulder strap while Jack grabbed the other. Adrian pushed from below with Otto.
"Careful! Keep her head steady!" Adrian instructed, his voice taut with worry. The two Brits worked quickly, pulling Emma free from the hatch. Adrian leaped down from the Panther and helped them carefully lower her onto the waiting stretcher held by Elijah and David from the Bradley crew.
Meanwhile, Arthur sprinted to the Bradley, grabbed two packs of O-negative blood from their medical supplies, and hurried over to Emma. His face was tight with focus as he barked, "Inside. Now!"
Paul and Gregory ignored the stunned faces of the Processors and strode directly toward the base entrance, their movements brisk and purposeful. Without hesitation, they pushed open the heavy door, leading the way inside.
Elijah and David followed close behind, carrying Emma on the stretcher with practiced efficiency. Arthur trailed them, clutching the blood packs tightly, while the rest of the crew filed in behind.
"Out of the way!" Paul's voice rang out as they charged down the corridor, each step echoing against the walls.
"Right door! Right!" Elijah called from behind, his voice sharp with urgency. Paul immediately turned, slamming his shoulder into the indicated door to push it open.
They entered the dayroom, a cluttered space filled with chairs and random supplies. Paul wasted no time, shoving tables and equipment out of the way to clear a flat surface in the center of the room. Gregory held the door open, allowing Elijah and David to carry the stretcher inside.
"Here! Put her down!" Paul directed, pointing to the makeshift space. As the stretcher touched down, Arthur knelt beside Emma and began prepping the IV. His movements were quick but controlled, his medical expertise shining through as he inserted the needle and connected the blood pack.
Emma groaned softly, her eyelids fluttering as consciousness fought to slip away again.
"Stay with us, Emma," Paul said, his tone firm but not unkind. He turned to Arthur. "How's she doing?"
Arthur didn't glance up, his focus solely on Emma. "She's critical—she's already lost too much blood," he muttered, his voice tight with frustration. With a quick, practiced motion, he ripped off the Velcro holding her vest together and tossed it aside.
The dayroom had grown more crowded as several Processors, including Anju, Raiden, and Kaie, slipped in quietly. They pressed themselves against the walls, watching the chaotic scene unfold with tense expressions.
Arthur removed Emma's vest entirely, tossing it aside, and without hesitation tore her blouse open to expose her chest. His movements were quick, efficient, and devoid of hesitation as he secured an IV line to her arm, linking it to a blood pack. "Greg, hold this!" he barked, thrusting the bag of blood toward Gregory, who immediately took it without a word.
Some of the female Processors flinched at the sight, their discomfort evident. Anju stepped forward slightly, her brow furrowing as though she was about to intervene, but a glance at the severity of the situation made her pause. She bit her lip and exchanged uneasy glances with Kaie.
It was a moment of silent understanding—they didn't like it, but this wasn't their world, this was clearly out of their jurisdiction. This was a crisis the NATO team was trained to handle, and stepping in would only make things worse. They stood back, watching with a mix of agitation and helplessness.
Following NATO standards, each vehicle was equipped with a medical compartment containing essential supplies: blood packs, a defibrillator, bandages, and gauze. As Arthur worked, the other NATO soldiers brought in more supplies, building a small cache of equipment around Emma.
Arthur grabbed the defibrillator pads, sticking the contacts to Emma's ribcage with precise care. "Paul, take the defib!" he barked, dragging Paul toward the machine.
Paul didn't hesitate. He stepped up, quickly powering on the device. This wasn't the dramatic Hollywood-style defibrillator with handheld paddles; it was an automated model designed for simplicity and efficiency. The device began guiding Paul step by step, simultaneously monitoring Emma's heartbeat.
"We're not losing her," Arthur bellowed, his tone resolute as he grabbed more medical supplies. His hands worked with a precision born of urgency and determination. "You ain't dying on me, Emma! You hear me?!" His voice cracked slightly, raw emotion seeping through the stern façade. "You aren't gonna die, not when I have a say in it!"
The room was tense, the air thick with worry. Paul exchanged a glance with Gregory, both men understanding the stakes.
Arthur moved down to check the wound on Emma's thigh. His face grew darker as he carefully removed the tourniquet, ensuring that the bloodflow was slow at first. The moment it was fully undone though, blood began spurting from the wound again, forcing him to quickly apply pressure.
"Is she still breathing?!" Arthur demanded, his voice sharp with urgency, not once lifting his focus from the task at hand.
Noah kneeled beside Emma's head, checking her vitals. "Yeah! It ain't much, but it's there," he reported, trying to keep his tone steady, though concern was clear in his voice.
"Okay! Prepare to intubate her! If her breathing sets out, we'll be in a world of pain!" Arthur barked, gesturing to Elijah.
"Apply pressure on this wound!" he ordered. Elijah nodded and moved in without hesitation, his hands pressing down firmly where Arthur had indicated.
Arthur quickly grabbed a pair of trauma shears from the first aid kit and started cutting away the fabric of Emma's combat pants, working efficiently to free up space for better access to the wound.
The room had grown heavy with silence, the Processors frozen in place. Anju's brow furrowed as she looked between the NATO soldiers, her mind racing to understand the gravity of what was happening. Raiden stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his discomfort palpable, but his gaze unwavering. Kaie, usually sharp and quick with words, stood motionless, her usual confidence lost in the face of the chaos around them.
Emma, despite being on the brink of conscious, moaned weakly, her body twitching in response to the pain. The color was draining from her face with each passing moment, her breathing becoming more shallow as time seemed to slip away.
"Shit. We're losing her! Beginning compressions!" Paul growled, his tone strained with urgency as he moved beside Emma. Without hesitation, he positioned his hands on her chest to begin CPR.
Ensign Mina, one of the female Processors present, took a step forward, her voice rising in concern. "Hey! What are you—?" she started, but Kaie quickly stepped in, holding her back with a firm grip.
Paul didn't acknowledge the interruption, his sole focus on keeping Emma alive as he continued the chest compressions with steady, controlled force. The room was filled with tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone present. "I need someone with Oxy!" Paul barked, never breaking rhythm.
Within moments, David was kneeling beside Paul, ready for his part in the life-saving efforts. "Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!" David counted, then leaned in. He pinched Emma's nose, gently parted her lips, and pressed his mouth to hers, delivering five breaths. Paul immediately resumed the compressions.
The Processors watched, wide-eyed and silent, unsure how to react to the frantic medical efforts. Arthur, still kneeling beside Emma, found the source of the bleeding. A major artery had been grazed and torn, the damage severe enough to put her life in immediate jeopardy.
Arthur suddenly looked up, his voice calm but urgent. "Anyone have a light?"
Noah stood up, and fumbled through his pockets, finally retrieving a BIC lighter. "Here, mate!" he called, tossing it to Arthur.
With practiced hands, Arthur caught the lighter and drew out a pocketknife, heating it until it glowed red. "Emma, if you can hear me, I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice tight with concern. "This is going to hurt like hell."
He turned to Elijah. "Take your hands off."
As Elijah pulled his hands away, blood surged from the wound again, but without proper medical tools or surgical expertise, cauterizing the wound was the only option left.
The tension in the room heightened, but there was no time for hesitation. Arthur's focus was sharp as he prepared to use the heated knife to stem the bleeding and give Emma a fighting chance.
Arthur took a deep breath before he pressed the hot knife against the Artery. The heat from the knife caused a sharp, acrid smell to fill the air as Arthur focused with surgical precision. He pressed the red-hot blade into the wound, the sizzling sound of cauterizing flesh mingling with the tense silence in the room. With each press, the blood slowed, but the strain on Arthur's nerves intensified.
Emma's leg shot up suddenly, a violent reflex in response to the pain, but Elijah reacted instinctively, grabbing her leg and forcing it back down. "Hold her steady!" Arthur barked, his voice tight with urgency.
Without missing a beat, Adrian and Otto jumped into action, each grabbing one of Emma's arms to keep her body still as Arthur worked. The weight of the moment was heavy on them all, the air thick with anticipation as Arthur pressed on.
The blood flow began to slow, but the pressure in the room didn't let up. Arthur kept his focus, careful not to lose the delicate balance of controlling the bleeding while keeping Emma alive. The minutes stretched on, but every movement was purposeful, every decision critical to her survival.
The crew worked in tight synchrony, each knowing their role in this life-and-death struggle, holding on to the fragile thread of hope that Emma could make it through.
Arthur's hands trembled as he pulled the knife away, the blood finally ceasing to flow. The room was so silent that the faintest sound of his breath felt deafening. His eyes flicked to Paul, who had stopped the chest compressions. They locked eyes, the weight of the moment settling in between them, palpable and suffocating. Arthur's gaze darkened for a moment, the tension thick enough to strangle anyone in the room. He looked for any sign that they had made it—that they hadn't lost her.
Then he saw it. The faintest curve of Paul's lips. It was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Paul's eyes met his again, and in that single moment, the tension in the room reached a breaking point.
The stillness seemed to stretch on forever.
"We did it…" Paul's voice was a barely audible whisper, but it echoed in the silence of the room, a fragile victory in the midst of chaos.
Arthur's chest tightened. His heart raced. He couldn't let go just yet, but the release, the relief, began to seep in like a slow, careful exhale. He dropped the knife with a clatter, the sound almost too loud in the quiet. The moment they had fought for felt surreal, like the ground beneath them could give way at any second. He stood up slowly, his body aching from the strain, and when his gaze met Paul's again, the tension between them snapped.
Without another word, Paul stood too, and the two men collided in a brief, unspoken embrace, their bodies still shaking from adrenaline. The room seemed to exhale with them, as if the air had been held hostage, and now it was free again. The others, watching from the edges of the room, exhaled in unison, the tension dissolving into a collective breath.
But even as the relief washed over them, the room didn't forget how close they had come to losing her. Emma's faint breathing was a constant reminder, but for now, they had won this battle.
Hours had passed since the frantic fight to save Emma's life. She now lay on one of the bunks in the makeshift infirmary, her breathing steady but weak, a stark contrast to the chaos earlier. Otto and Adrian stood at her side, their expressions guarded, as if daring her condition to worsen. The other NATO crew members and Processors had congregated in the day room, the tension easing into a quieter, almost surreal calm.
Paul leaned back in his chair, a faint chuckle escaping him as he recounted the absurdity of his military beginnings. "No, no, you're not hearing me wrong," he said with a smirk. "We all joined up because of the draft."
Raiden's eyes widened in disbelief. "You guys were drafted? No way. The way you move, fight, and handle yourselves… You're telling me you're not a standing army? No special forces?"
Paul laughed softly, shaking his head. "Oh, we're definitely conscripts. But we had the right training. Uncle Sam needed weapons and people to use them, so the government dangled cash and benefits in front of everyone, hoping they'd volunteer. Of course, no one in their right mind signed up while there was a war raging."
Elijah leaned forward, his voice dripping with dry sarcasm. "And then, in its infinite wisdom, the government passed some genius Wartime Law. Basically, they decided they could drag anyone off the street, slap a rifle in their hands, and toss them into a trench. Legally."
The room fell quiet for a beat, the weight of their words sinking in. Even the younger Processors, who had seen more war than most adults, seemed stunned by the grim efficiency of it all.
Anju frowned, her arms crossed tightly. "So, you're telling me you didn't have a choice?"
Paul shrugged, his demeanor calm but his tone cutting. "Not really. They called it 'service to the nation.' We called it survival. Once you're in, you either learn fast or you're the one who comes home in a box while your family recieves a folded Flag."
Raiden scoffed, he didn't understand the reference with the flag but decided not to push it. His was disbelief giving way to a grudging respect. "And yet, you're still alive. Still fighting like you've been doing this your whole life."
"Like I said, we had the right training," Paul said, leaning back and crossing his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "During boot camp, me, Elijah, and Greg were in the same unit. We all had the same drill instructor."
Elijah and Greg immediately grinned, sharing a knowing look.
"Ah, yes. Staff Sergeant Angelo Arigoni," Elijah said, a chuckle escaping as he shook his head at the memory.
The Processors looked at them, confused, their expressions silently asking, What's so funny?
"Yeah," Greg chimed in, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Mr. Arigoni… a real sweetheart."
"Sweetheart?" Raiden asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh yeah, the kind of sweetheart who'd threaten to send us out to dig up landmines with our bare hands," Elijah said, his smirk widening as he glanced upward, almost nostalgic. "Any time you messed up, he'd look you dead in the eye and say, 'Private, you're about five seconds from volunteering for the world's worst game of hide-and-seek.'"
The Processors' confusion deepened. Some exchanged glances, clearly trying to decide if the NATO soldiers were joking or if their drill instructor had genuinely been that unhinged.
"And if you thought about talking back?" Greg added, his grin sharp. "He'd make you do push-ups until he was tired."
The absurdity of the statement hung in the air for a moment before Anju frowned, her brows knitting together. "That doesn't even make sense. How would he get tired?"
Paul let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Exactly." He shot her a smirk and a deadpan look, leaving her even more confused than before.
Elijah leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "His name was Angelo Arigoni. His initials were AA. We lovingly called him the Agile Alcoholic." He grinned wide, his tone half-joking but tinged with admiration.
Greg nodded enthusiastically, jumping in. "The man might've been small in height, but damn, was he quick. And it wasn't just speed on the battlefield—he'd have drunk Noah under the table and still been up for PT at 0500." He chuckled, earning a sharp, playful glare from Noah, who folded his arms and muttered something under his breath.
Paul raised a hand for emphasis, his expression turning mock-serious. "That man wasn't just fast, he was a legend. Myth has it, Arigoni could dodge bullets. Straight-up Neo from The Matrix stuff."
Anju's brow furrowed deeper, clearly skeptical. "You're kidding, right? No one can dodge bullets."
"Not unless they're Angelo Arigoni," Paul countered, his smirk growing. "I swear, I've seen it with my own eyes. We were out on the range once, live fire drills. A stray shot ricocheted towards him. The dude didn't flinch—he just ducked, sidestepped, and kept barking orders like nothing happened."
Elijah burst into laughter. "Oh yeah, and then he called us idiots for watching instead of focusing on the drill."
Greg added, his grin turning mischievous. "And let's not forget his motivational tactics. He'd stand behind you on the range, and if you missed a target, he'd bark things like, 'Are you even aiming properly?' or 'My Nona could hit that damned target with her handbag better than you! Drop and give me fifty, now!'"
The Processors exchanged uneasy glances, unsure if they should laugh or be horrified.
Kaie crossed her arms, her expression torn between skepticism and disbelief. "So, let me get this straight… Your drill instructor was a fast, agile, hard-drinking legend who could dodge bullets and terrorized you into competence?"
Paul smirked, leaning back. "Exactly. The Agile Alcoholic himself. Some of us hated him… wait, no—all of us hated him." He paused, his tone softening slightly. "But the man was a legend."
Raiden raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "And what happened to this so-called legend? If he was so invincible, where's he now?"
Paul's grin faltered slightly but didn't disappear entirely. "In the end, he died," he said, his tone still casual, though there was a faint hint of something more beneath it.
"The most ironic fact of all," Greg interjected, his grin widening as if savoring the absurdity, "was that he caught a bullet. One stray shot… and just like that, he was gone."
Elijah leaned forward, his expression smug as he added, "He died like a dog, and even in his last breaths, he told us—and I quote—'When you dipshits catch up to me in hell, I'll be making you and the Devil do push-ups until I'm fucking tired.'"
The room fell silent, the NATO soldiers clearly unbothered by the grim humor.
The Processors, however, were visibly unsettled. Anju's eyes widened, Raiden's brow furrowed in disbelief, and Kaie's lips parted slightly in shock. They exchanged uneasy glances, struggling to comprehend how these men could speak so freely and nonchalantly about the death of someone they had clearly respected—or at least endured.
"You talk about him like…" Kaie hesitated, her usual sharp tone softened as she searched for the right words. "Like he wasn't even human."
Paul straightened slightly, his grin fading into something more genuine. "Oh, please don't get me wrong," he began, his voice carrying an unexpected sincerity. "We all held a special kind of bond with him. He made us who we are today. He taught us how to survive when the odds were stacked against us. But he also told us—and I quote—'If any of you motherfuckers even dares to shed a tear over me, I'll haunt you in your wet dreams!'"
The absurdity of the quote hung in the air for a moment, and despite herself, Kaie's lips twitched as though fighting a smile.
"Okay, this… is going the wrong way. Let's change the subject," Raiden interjected, shaking his head as though to dispel the images forming in his mind. "Tell us what you guys did before the military."
"Oh… great question," Paul said, his grin returning as he leaned forward. He turned to Matteo with a sly look. "Mat here was a police officer in his past life, and he always has a certain story he loves to share when he talks about his career in law enforcement."
Matteo face turned a deep shade of red, and he groaned. "Paul, don't."
"C'mon, it's too good not to share," Paul teased, waving off Felix's protest. The other NATO crew members joined in, cheering him on with enthusiasm. After a few more minutes of teasing and encouragement, Felix finally gave in with a heavy sigh.
"Alright, alright, settle down!" Matteo called, gesturing with his arms to quiet them. His expression shifted from annoyed to the easygoing demeanor of someone about to tell a good story, catching the Processors off guard.
"Alright, picture this," Matteo began, his tone shifting to that of a seasoned storyteller. His hands moved animatedly as he spoke, drawing everyone into his tale. "It's late 2068, fall, and the weather's cold. I'm sitting in the squad car, when dispatch suddenly comes through with a call. Some guy's running around with an axe in his hands—right next to a pre-school."
The room collectively tensed as Matteo paused for effect. "So, yeah, my stomach's doing backflips at this point. I'm bracing myself for the worst. Then dispatch hits us with a Code-3—meaning lights, sirens, and just fucking floor it."
Matteo leaned forward, his expression sharpening as he continued. "The call goes out to all nearby units, and in no time, seven cars are mobilized. So there I am, blasting the sirens, lights flashing, doing 80 in a 50 zone. Flying down the street like my life depends on it—because, let's be real, someone else's does."
He let the words hang for a moment before adding, his voice grave, "My biggest fear at that moment was, that psycho grabbing a kid. A child in his hands, and we'd be dealing with a whole new level of 'completely fucked.'"
The Processors listened intently, their expressions a mix of fascination and confusion. While many of Matteo's references flew over their heads, the tension in his story kept them hooked.
"The first two cars arrive—me and another officer," Matteo continued, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of humor. "And the moment we pull up, it's clear: this guy is either completely nuts or he's on something strong."
He gestured with his hands to illustrate the scene. "So, my partner and I approach him—calmly, you know? We didn't want to spook the guy. My partner had his Taser ready in case things went sideways, and I had my hand on my pistol, just in case."
Matteo mimicked his past self, adopting a calm but firm tone. "'Hello, sir. Why don't you lay down that axe for me so we can talk? How does that sound?' I asked him, while my partner tried to circle around to get a better angle. We didn't want to do anything reckless—not yet. The dude was huge, and that axe? It looked sharp enough to split a car in half."
Matteo chuckled again, his hands gesturing animatedly as he continued. "Now, you gotta imagine this scene. The guy's pacing in circles, muttering absolute gibberish—like he's speaking a language no one's ever heard. He's completely ignoring us, just swinging that axe around like he's auditioning for some medieval battle."
The Processors leaned in, utterly captivated.
"Meanwhile, two more patrol cars roll up," Matteo added, his grin widening. "And one of them pulls out the ouchie rounds." He paused for dramatic effect before clarifying, "For the record, ouchie rounds are what we call beanbag rounds. They're less-than-lethal projectiles fired from a pump-action shotgun. It's basically a little sack filled with lead shot."
He leaned forward slightly, emphasizing his next words. "And let me tell you, when one of those things hits you? Oh boy, it hurts. It won't kill you—well, unless you're really unlucky—but it'll make you wish it did."
The mental image of such a weapon made the Processors exchange uneasy glances, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and discomfort. Matteo smirked at their reactions. "Trust me, you don't wanna be on the receiving end of one of those."
Matteo straightened up, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and disbelief. "So, there we are—four cops, all geared up, facing down this one big dude with an axe. Sure, we've got guns, tasers, beanbag rounds, the works. But we can't just walk up and shoot the guy. That's not how it works."
He let out a short laugh, his hands gesturing animatedly as he continued. "So I give it another shot. I try to talk to him again, all calm and professional. 'Sir, do you mind telling me your name?'" Matteo paused, letting the tension build before his tone shifted, tinged with mock exasperation. "And guess what? The guy still ignores me. Doesn't even blink."
Then Matteo leaned forward, his eyes widening slightly. "And here's where it gets interesting. Out of nowhere, he starts muttering about dragons. I'm talking full-on rambling, something like, 'We've gotta prepare! The dragons are coming!' That's when it hits me—this guy is definitely on more than just a little something."
Matteo smirked, shaking his head at the memory. "One of the other officers looks at me and asks, 'What's he on?' Without missing a beat, another officer deadpans, 'Everything.' I almost lost it right there, but managed to keep it together as I took a step closer to the guy.
'Sir, please let go of the axe. We just want to talk,' I tried again. But nope—he just kept rambling about dragons, totally ignoring me. At that point, I'm thinking, enough is enough. I wasn't about to stand there for hours listening to this nonsense. So I decided, let's tase this guy and call it a day."
Matteo leaned back, gesturing as he described the scene. "The other officers agreed. I pulled out my taser, while the officer positioned behind him moved out of the way and over to my left, his gun at the ready just in case. I gave the warning: 'Taser, taser, taser!' Then, bang. The taser fires, two little needles shoot out and hit him square in the chest. And let me tell you, when 50,000 volts hit this guy, it's like the lights came on in an empty house. His whole body stiffened like a plank, and he hit the ground so hard it felt like the earth shook."
The Processors watched in awe, their eyes wide as they hung on Matteo's every word. It was as if they were witnessing the story play out right in front of them. The way he described the scene—the tension, the chaos, and the sheer absurdity of it all—painted a vivid picture none of them could look away from.
"Wait, wait," Kaie interjected, her expression a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "You mean to tell me you took down a guy ranting about dragons… with just a little electricity?"
Matteo chuckled, a sly grin spreading across his face as a few of the NATO crew members stifled their own laughter. "Oh, Kaie, you've got no idea what 50,000 volts does to a person. It's like Zeus himself decided to personally tickle your insides with his divine little pinky finger. Trust me—it doesn't feel good."
The NATO crew burst into laughter at Matteo's absurd description, a few of them nearly doubling over.
After Matteo calmed down, he leaned back in his chair, his smirk lingering. "Alright, let me tell you about another time—this guy thought it'd be a good idea to have a shootout with the police."
The room immediately quieted, all attention locked onto him. The NATO crew exchanged knowing glances, already anticipating the madness about to unfold, while the Processors leaned in, a mix of curiosity and unease evident on their faces.
Matteo folded his arms, his expression shifting to something more somber. "This was back in early 2065. Quiet night, nothing major happening, when dispatch suddenly lit up. Code-3. Stolen car, suspect armed and dangerous, speeding down the interstate." He paused, letting the weight of the situation settle. "And this wasn't just some joyride—this guy had a hostage in the car and had already fired at an officer during a traffic stop before taking off."
The Processors leaned forward, their eyes wide with tension. Even the NATO crew exchanged glances, hanging on Matteo's every word.
"So there we were," Matteo continued, his tone steady but intense, "lights and sirens blaring, trying to catch up to this lunatic. Every available unit was called in. Normally, a hostage situation like this would go to SWAT. They're the Special Weapons and Tactics guys, trained for these kinds of situations. Plus, they've got the BearCat—a beast of a truck. Uparmored with bulletproof plating, windows, and tires. It's a rolling fortress." His grin widened for a moment, but the seriousness of the memory quickly returned.
"The guy's weaving through traffic like he's in an action movie, barely missing cars left and right. And that poor hostage... oh boy, we could see her through the back window—absolutely terrified."
Raiden furrowed his brow. "Was he aiming to escape or just trying to scare you all?"
"I'll get to that," Matteo replied with a slight smirk. "So we're closing in on him, when suddenly he crashes—slams into an innocent bystander's car. Total chaos. At this point, there are about 15 patrol cars in pursuit, and a helicopter is pulling Hot-Laps overhead, tracking him from the sky. The crash damages his car door, and that's when the hostage makes her move. She bolts out and runs for her life."
Matteo paused for effect, his voice lowering slightly. "My collegue jumps out his car, grabs her, and takes her to cover behind his cruiser. Meanwhile, I head to the trunk, grab my patrol rifle, and position myself behind the driver's side door. I perch the rifle on the open door, aiming right at the suspect. The hostage was safe, and now we had one job—get him out. Alive, if possible."
He shook his head, his expression darkening. "But apparently, he had other plans. He starts trying to restart the car, ready to take off again. That's when the BearCat comes into play. It slams into his car, pinning it against a concrete wall. Nowhere left to run."
Matteo's tone grew colder. "An officer uses the PA system, shouting, 'Exit the vehicle and lay face down on the ground!' He repeats it, giving the guy every chance to surrender. But then… crack. A gunshot. A bullet whizzes past the officer's head, barely missing him. That was it. No more chances."
He let out a slow breath. "We opened fire. Service pistols, patrol rifles, SWAT—the works. For a full minute, we peppered that car. By the end of it, we'd fired 427 rounds into the vehicle."
The Processors were stunned silent, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief.
"And the suspect?" Kaie finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Matteo shrugged, his tone matter-of-fact but with a hint of dark humor. "He took about half of those rounds. And get this—one of the officers actually wrote in his report, and I kid you not, 'Suspect succumbed to acute lead poisoning before the physical trauma could finish him off.'"
The room burst into laughter, the absurdity of the statement breaking the heavy tension Matteo's story had built. Even some of the Processors, who didn't fully grasp all the references, couldn't help but chuckle at the way Matteo delivered the line.
Matteo smirked, shaking his head. "The police chief at the time thought it was too good to let slide. He printed out that report, framed it, and hung it right there in the reception area. Big bold letters at the top: 'Report of 2046.' So anyone who walked into the station—civilians, officers, even the brass—got a good laugh before they got down to business."
The NATO crew burst into laughter again, some shaking their heads in disbelief.
Kaie tilted her head, trying to stifle her own amusement. "You're telling me your boss turned a suspect's death report into a wall decoration?"
Matteo shrugged, his grin widening. "Welcome to our world," he stated simply, his tone casual but tinged with pride.
The NATO crew erupted into another wave of laughter, some doubling over while others slapped their knees. Even a few of the Processors couldn't help but chuckle along, the lighthearted mood becoming infectious.
Raiden, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, chimed in. "So, Matteo, you were a police officer, right?" he asked, pointing at him.
"Correct," Matteo replied with a nod, his tone proud yet humble.
"And the rest of you?" Raiden continued, genuine curiosity in his voice. "What did you all do before the military?"
Arthur spoke up first, his voice calm but carrying a subtle confidence. "I was a nurse back in the day. These days, I'm the unofficial medic of our little band of misfits."
"Figured," Anju interjected with a soft giggle. "You were in complete control earlier. Everyone listened to you without hesitation."
Arthur chuckled modestly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, it comes with the territory. When lives are on the line, someone's gotta step up and keep a clear head."
Noah straightened in his seat, a modest grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I drove trucks for a livin'. Nearby did some Olympic shooting. Won some prizes here and there. Nothin' spectacular," he said casually.
Jasper, his loader, immediately cut in, shaking his head in disbelief. "Nothing spectacular? Mate, you won gold. Twice in a row!"
The room collectively perked up at that, but Raiden's next words left the NATO crew momentarily stunned. Leaning forward with a genuinely curious expression, he asked, "What's an Olympic?" His tone was far too casual for the NATO members' liking.
A long pause followed, broken only by Matteo letting out an incredulous laugh. "You're joking, right?"
Raiden blinked, tilting his head slightly. "Uh, no. Should I know what it is?"
Noah nearly dropped his coffee, and Jasper let out a wheezing laugh. "You lot don't have the Olympic Games?" Noah asked, scanning the Processors. They all shook their heads in unison, their blank expressions making the NATO crew collectively groan.
"Well…" Noah began, leaning back in his chair. "Simply put, it's where people from all over the world gather in one place to compete to see who's the best in their sport. It's a global tradition. For me, it was shooting."
Raiden raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Shooting? Like… targets or actual combat?"
Noah smirked. "Targets. Precision shooting, to be exact. It's all about accuracy and control. You've got different categories—rifles, pistols, shotguns. I specialized in long-range rifle shooting."
"And I assume getting gold is like… really good?" Theoto asked from his quiet corner of the room, his tone genuinely curious as he looked up from his sketchbook.
Noah scratched the back of his head, looking a bit sheepish. "Aye, you've got bronze, silver, and gold—third, second, and first place. Gold means you're the bloody best."
"Now it makes sense why I lost to him," Kurena muttered under her breath, crossing her arms with a pout. "That's cheating. I demand a rematch!" she called over, refusing to meet Noah's gaze.
Noah smirked but didn't respond to her challenge. Instead, Kaie cut in. "And you won two of those gold medals?"
"Aye," Noah said with a casual shrug. "But that was a while back. Different time, different goals. Back then, we didn't have this massive war going on."
"You're too humble, mate," Jasper interjected, giving Noah a hearty slap on the shoulder. "He made headlines back home for years. Bloody legend, he is."
Noah chuckled, brushing off the compliment. "Bollocks. Shooting's one thing, but war? That's a whole different ballgame. Out here, it's not about medals—it's about survival and teamwork. Nothing else matters."
The NATO crew exchanged approving glances, their nods affirming the sentiment. Raiden cracked a smile, leaning back in his seat. "Now that's what I call a real leader," he said, his tone warm with respect.
Noah, however, raised his hands in mock protest, shaking his head. "Me? Nah, lad. Not a leader. I'm just here to keep the tank running, and that's more than enough for me," he chuckled, pointing a thumb toward Paul. "Captain Keller here, though? He's the real deal. Always has been. Bet it's his past that's got him wired for command."
All eyes shifted toward Paul, who let out a long, almost imperceptible sigh, as if the weight of the words had followed him. The attention, while not unwanted, had a way of bringing out the old memories. "Yeah," Paul muttered with a wry smile, "I was a firefighter lieutenant back in the day. Learned real teamwork in that line of work. The kind where one person's mistake could cost everyone." He paused, his gaze drifting out the window for a moment. "That mentality, it stuck with me, and it's what I try to bring here. These guys, they're family. And if we're gonna make it out of this, it's gonna be together."
"See? Leader!" Noah said matter-of-factly, flashing a grin at Raiden.
Raiden smirked, leaning back. "Huh… no shit. Makes sense now. What about the rest of you lot?" His gaze swept over the group, curiosity lighting up his features. "You all come from hero or celebrity-worthy backgrounds too, or are Paul, Arthur, and Noah the only ones?"
Paul let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Let's put it this way: we've all done something in life that made us a hero to someone, even if it didn't make the headlines. Sometimes, it's the small things that matter." He turned toward Theodore, nodding in his direction. "Take Theodore, for example. He was a construction worker before the draft. One of the guys out there making sure the roads didn't crumble and the lights stayed on. Kept the infrastructure running, no matter how thankless the job."
Paul's hand shifted to point at Felix. "Then there's Felix. He was a car mechanic—and not just any mechanic, mind you. A damn good one. He and his fellow mechanics where the reason we could get our wheels moving when it mattered most."
Finally, Paul's gaze settled on Gregory, a smirk tugging at his lips. "And Gregory here? This guy was an IT specialist. Anything with a screen, a code, or a lock, he could hack it, crack it, or program it. Doesn't matter how secure it was—Gregory always found a way in."
The Processors fell silent, each one nodding in understanding as the depth of Paul's words sank in. Daiya's voice broke the quiet, low and tinged with bitterness. "You all had great lives then, huh? Not like us." His eyes darkened, shadows of old wounds flickering in his expression.
Paul exhaled, shaking his head gently. "Great lives?" he said, his tone soft but firm. "I wouldn't go that far. It's not like we were banished from our homeland and forced to fight homicidal AI killer drones." He paused, giving the words a moment to settle before Elijah stepped in.
"But don't think our lives were all sunshine and rainbows either," Elijah added, his voice steady but edged with sincerity. "Every one of us had our battles. Divorce, illness, money troubles, the crushing weight of inflation—hell, take your pick. We might've started from different places, but hardship doesn't care who you are. It finds you all the same."
"And now we all sit in the same damned boat," came a new voice from the doorway. Heads turned to see Adrian, the German tank commander, leaning against the frame. His uniform was wrinkled, and the dark circles under his eyes made it clear he hadn't slept in what looked like a week.
Adrian stepped forward, his voice steady despite the exhaustion etched into his features. "We're all here, fighting the same enemy, waging the same war. That's what matters." His sharp gaze swept across the room, lingering on each of them with quiet intensity.
"Whatever brought us here—whether it was some supernatural force or sheer fate—it doesn't matter anymore," Adrian continued, his tone growing firmer, a spark of determination cutting through his exhaustion. "What matters is that we fight. Together. No matter the struggles we face, we'll come out on top. That's what we do."
He paused, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he gestured toward the doorway. "Just like her."
All eyes turned to see Emma standing there, her figure framed by the dim light of the hall. She leaned against Otto for support, her posture weakened but her resolve unmistakable. Though battered, her expression carried the quiet strength of someone who refused to give in.
Current Character and Vehicles:
Iron Horse-1 (M1A5 Abrams):
Captain John Paul Keller—Iron Horse-1 VC
Lance Corporal Gregory Sampson—Iron Horse-1 Gunner
Specialist Felix Erickson—Iron Horse-1 Driver
Private First Class Theodore Meyer—Iron Horse-1 Loader
Wardog-2 (Challenger 4):
Lieutenant Noah Piers—Wardog-2 VC
Warrant Officer Jack Leeman—Wardog-2 Gunner
Corporal Arthur Williams—Wardog-2 Driver
Lance Corporal Jasper Robinson—Wardog-2 Loader
Kaiser-1 (KF-51 Panther):
Feldwebel Adrian Koch—Kaiser-1 VC
Unteroffizier Emma Neuman—Kaiser-1 Gunner
Obergefreiter Otto Klein—Kaiser-1 Driver
Warpig-3 (M7 Bradley II):
Gunnery Sergeant Elijah Jones—Warpig-3 VC
Sergeant Matteo Miller—Warpig-3 Gunner
Corporal David Anderson—Warpig-3 Driver
Eighty-Six Spearhead Squadron (M1A4 Juggernaut):
Captain Shinei Nouzen "Undertaker" "Reaper" 1st Platoon & Squadon Leader
First Lieutenant Raiden Shuga "Wehrwolf" 2nd Platoon Leader & XO to Spearhead
Second Lieutenant Anju Emma "Snow Witch"
Second Lieutenant Kurena Kukumila "Gunslinger" 6th Platoon Leader
Second Lieutenant Theoto Rikka "Laughing Fox" 3rd Platoon Leader
Second Lieutenant Daiya Irma "Black Dog" 5th Platoon Leader
Second Lieutenant Kaie Tanyia "Kirschblüte" 4th Platoon Leader
Ensign Kujo Nico "Sirius"
Ensign Haruto Keats "Falke"
Ensign Io Dodanthe "Argos"
Ensign Ochi Anton "Gladiator"
Ensign Shuri Gilith "Dendroaspis"
Ensign Kariya Rohga "La Bete"
Ensign Hariz Senya "Cato'Nine"
Ensign Mina Shiroka "Artemis"
Ensign Matthew Nanaki "Walpurgis"
Ensign Kuroto Hinie "Manticore"
Ensign Lecca Lin "Burnt Tayl"
Ensign Tohzan Sasha "Gunmetslstorm"
Ensign Mikuri Cairo "Leukosia"
Ensign Myna Yatomika "March Hare"
Ensign Chise Authen "Griffin"
Ensign Touma Sauvy "Helianthus"
Ensign Louie Kino "Fafnir" K.I.A.
San Magnolia:
Brigadier General Jérôme Karlstahl
Major Vladilena Milizé
Major Cecilia Amaranth
Technical Lieutenant Victor Lysander
Technical Lieutenant Henrietta von Penrose
Sergeant Elliot Fainwright
Alive: 43
K.I.A.: 1