>be Anon, upstanding citizen of a nation of the Old World
>the Merge happens
>what I believed to be fantasy creatures started appearing for real
>portals here and there started merging our reality with theirs
>some of their villages and small settlements would appear by magic here and there, while some of ours would disappear, prolly got moved to their world
>society got shocked
>in a turn of events that caught me on the way a new Crusade was declared
>while many on board were literally deusvult.oilpainting some others were a bit more moderated
>except the spaniards
>nobody expected it but... yeah you get what I'm going for
>sheer autism and magi/k/ combined made a lot of even more fictional stuff spawn both in our and "their" reality
>like lots of well preserved nazi weaponry, much to the enjoyment of wehraboos throughout our world
>mar/k/et is suddenly saturated with every possible soviet surplus weapon
>and cheap alcohol
>much like the mythical Flying Dutchman, the /K/arrier appears on day out of the mist
>now actual magic permeates Chernobyl too
>much to the enjoyment of everyone
>leviathans roam the sea
>much to the happiness of Jap whalers, who now are back in business
>/k/ommando on cryptid lewding becomes common occurrence to the point it stops being in the news after the first week or so
>the lost weapon know as G11 becomes actually possible to be found en mass
>China still doesn't matter, but also tries to meddle with a portal that has appeared in their territory
>while the world is in this state of Wild West tho, I'm stuck in a Tiger tank with a bunch of other """crusaders"""
>I just hope our transmission is as magical as our fuel, that seems never to run out
>and our objective is to explore and proselytise in the world over the portals
 
hey buds, I'm the anon that went trough a portal with some tanks for a /k/rusade, remeber me?
apparently here for you only some days passed, it's been months for me, something was really really wrong on the point of "other side" my guys fell into
>week 2, in its entirety
>massacred some keeblers in week 1
>morale really high, morals really low, as expected
>spend the entirety of the following days driving and never stopping
>just because the mongol in the Bt-7 was very convincing with his serious yelling and hand gesturing
> at the end of week 2 we finally find a big clearing in the bloody forest we ended up
>for every minute someone spent sleeping, everyone else was making tripwire traps and planting mines
>even on the fucking tree branches, 'cause you never know
>we decide finally to check the fuel tanks on our vehicles
>nobody manages to open them
>as if we something was trying to keep them shut
>mongol ends up caressing the Bt-7 as if it was a real horse
>everyone is a bit wierded out at first, not me tho
>I-it's not like I did too to my Tiger when nobody was watching
>he ends up pouring a bit of vodka from in the russians in the fuel replenishement tubes
>incredibly nothing blows up
>the english crew (or rather, british empire crew) pour some tea for their cromwell as almost to reward it too
>"just to make the good'ol Crom proppa british" declares their commander
>we want to pour some rakja, but neither of our slavs wants to separate from even a drop of it
>I can understand them, it's actualy a fucking miracle that alcohol has lasted so long
>me and Sven end up pouring some beer for our Tiger, and our italian commander just drops his last sips of wine
>the teutonic cosplayers just pray for their tank not to make it feel unappreciated
>I manage to sleep for what I reckon were a couple of hours
>Day 1, week 3
>what was to be the as of then saddest day of our small crusade had just begun
 
>after I got back to driving, and everyone else to chatting, we kept like that again following the hand signals of our resident Gengis Khan
>took us most of the day to finally get properly out of the forest
>what appeared before us was a very good alternative tho
>rolling hills, open plains and-wait
>"driver here, commander, do you see that"
>"Si, it's-a smoke, no further than a couple kloms"
>k-what?
>/k/-loms, kommando meters you dumb-a cunt
>okaythen
>radio chatter between tank commanders ensues
>Gengis deiceds not to lead the Bt-7 in grorious charge again, but sticks with us heavies instead
>half an hour later we get there
>tank tracks all around, various sizes
>land is scorched for tens of meters in every direction
>a big dead lizard
>by big I mean B-17 levels of big
>a smoking tank, a T-72 I reckon
>three nuggets impaled in the ground by their bayonets, in front of a mound each
>on the tank's side we see a human figure
>an average Joe in mismatched soviet tanker gear, slumped over, a mosin cradle in his arms and a cigarette in his mouth
>besides him a piece of fallen sidearmor with some etchings on it
>"To whom it may concern, the lizard's meat'll prolly taste like chic-"
>Cheeky fucker enjoyed his life till the end I bet
>we set up camp there and bury the last tan/k/er
>no alcohol or keebler paranoia tonight
>just mongolian throat singing
>we all somberly watch the downed tank as the sun sets behind it
>"those poor bastards will never come back home" I start to think while sitting in my driver's chair
>that was when i started hearing the whispers
 
>week 3 passed by, we decided to follow the tank tracks that were around the downed T-72
>normal routine resumed
>drive for 10 hours straight
>without keebler paranoia this time
>drive everyday for most of the day
>stopping only if we spot some animals, which have been remarkably few
>every once in a while check the fuel gauge to make sure it's still at full
>I dont care by this point how it's not depleting
>every once in a while I hear a whisper-like voice calling my name
>must be because because I'm tired
> I've been driving non stop for the last weeks after all
>"Anon, shift to another gear"
>"Yes commander" I answer out loud
>"What? I didn't say-a anything!"
>all my what the fucks
>One of our two slavs offers to drive in my stead for a while
>Fuck I must be tired for real, I'm too tired even to distiguish between them
>those beards that they've grown dont help tho
>sure man, knock yourself out
>I climb out of the cupola and lay down on the top of the turret
>warm, fresh, honest air, something we don't have back home, or rather, maybe now we do, but I dont know anyhting of what is going on on Merged Earth by this point
>"Shift gear again" I hear
> I look around just to see our Giovanni dozing off
>But I still hear the engine screeching a bit
>"hey driver, switch gear" I tell the driving slav
>I glance over at the other tanks
>Bt-7 still taking point, cromwell soon behind it, and us two Tiger Is slowly following
>I can see from here the smug aussie with the slouch hat sitting on the turret of their tank, being happy for seeing other people complaining about there being "Too much sun"
>the teutonic larpers have put all their medieval armor and extra clothes in a net on the side of their turret
>"Are you well anon?"
>Giovanni is still dozing, the slavs dont sound like that when they speak and Sven is sleeping
>forgot to mention that Sven is sleeping in a hammock bound to our tank's barrell
>ingenious swede
 
>"Are you well?"
>I think I got something wrong in my head by this time
>I just end giving a pat to the top of the turret and say "All is well"
>I swear to the /k/ube the tank shuddered for a second
>then a silly idea started dawning on me
>is the tank speaking to me?
>just casually I bait a reponse form the tank
>f-for science of course, i-i-it's not like I love the idea of a literal tank gf!
>"If only we knew where all the other tanks ended up"
>I wait for a couple of seconds, kepping the patting of the tank on point
>"Close"
>this time is Sven talking
>"By the end of the week we should be able to meet with some of them, trust me, I know it"
>the whispers stop for a time
>week 3 passes by
>the Sunday is spent in sadness for most of our crews, as we had finally run out of alcohol
 
tan/k/rusader anon here, back at it telling what happened on the other side
>Week 4, Day 1
>the complete cessation of any presence of alcohol reserve in our tank battalion affected everyone like magic all of a sudden
>our slavs have started getting all political regarding the merits and demerits of recreating a new post-Merge Yugoslavia
>our as of now tank commander, the italian >Giovanni has started getting exceedingly smug about how with this adventure he is managing both to have fun and run away from that harpy of his ex-wife
>Sven confesses that he is afraid his home country will pull off a "Sweden YES" with many of the less civilized and amiable fantasy races too
>I'm just happy to be finally feel like I'm living for real, to be finally filled with a sense of adventure
>day 2 passes with nothing in particular happening
>except our slavs taking turns to shoot APHE rounds at a pack of (what appeared to be) oversized deers they spotted in the distance
>final kill count was 17 kills by explosion for the serb, 2 headshot kills for the croat, 3 by mongolian arrowss
>we set up camp for the night near the Deer Genocide point, having Giovanni cook them for us
>one doe was only shocked, and quickly got apprehended by the british empire crew, who brought it behind their tank
>I can only "guess" what they did to it
>we saw it loom around the camp for hours after that, getting all friendly with those smug tankers
>I managed to get for the first time ever to chat with one of teutonic larpers
>I start to ask in mangled german some stuff to the guy with the greathelm with the biggest wings
>law of hats determines that he must be their tank commander for sure
>"Nah pal I dont speak G11"
>allofmywhats
>discover the entire crew to be for real a bunch of larpers, all from South Carolina
>asked why they kept so silent in general as a crew these last weeks
>"nobody knew how to operate a tank, and tbf, the prayers we did were to make the tank not break down"
 
>around the campfire I started asking around what they thought would have happened to our countries during our absence
>S.caroliners declare that everyhting was chill, maybe Florida could become a bigger fuckup
>"it'd mean the supreme floridaman has been unleashed"
>I ask the britsh empire
>"Britain will endure, as it always will"
>"I fucking want to see anyone try to get into s'traya"
>"skinwalkers and wendigos might become real problems for the Cascades"
>"I hope the fae didn't fuck up me home"
>"Highlander tradition will rise again"
>"-much like the South!" yells an enthusiastic s.caroliner
>the russkies look fine "Fall of Sovietsky Soyuz was worse"
>I dont ask the mongol tho
>I can see in his eyes the flames of a hundred burned cities, the screams of millions of people and the thundering of a thousand hooves
>Gengis Khan must be watching over us, for we must be for sure in company of his heir
>as I cradle myself in my seat, leaning on an improvised pillow I hear again whispers
>"Sleep well"
>"y-you too"
>we all did sleep well and woke up in a cheery mood
>day 3 dawns on us with a great wind, it carries the smell of the sea
 
>for hours we smell the sea, and soon after we start hearing it, we see it
>"weren't we following the tank tracks?"
>"we were following Gengis Khan Jr., which was following the tank tracks"
>"but I see no tracks"
> I start to get worried we may be lost
>"Contact, 3 /k/loms, in front of us! Looks-a like a settlement"
>the Bt-7 starts to rush in that direction
>before we can say anyhting about it everyone else is speeding after it
>inter-tank comms are filled with chatter regarding the nature of whatever race we are going to find in the village
>as we get closer I start noticing details
>wooden palisade with spiky ends
> great bones and tusks used to hold structures
>couple of heads mounted on spears
>said couple? meant dozens
>soon after we are in complete and clear visual range of the village, its inhabitants start to move
>big, tall, muscular, angry and greenish-brownish
>they are the stereotypical orcs if I've ever seen some
>the Bt-7 is the first to open fire, the mongol's arrows hitting more often than the tank's main gun and mg
>cromwell shoots and does fucking nothing, must have had solid shot loaded
>we load HE
>"Sven get the fucking hammock down from the barrell!"
>we shoot as soon sa he's done
>many are downed
>other Tiger I follows suit
>they aimed directly for the settlement
>those green bastards are still charging us tho
>I bet they coud pry open the commander cupola if they got close enough
>they will not tho
>a good dozen gets run over by the speeding cromwell
>why is their commander outside
>why is he eating a sammich
>why is their turret pointing backwards
>mg fire erupts and more greenies die
>ratatatat-BRRRRRRRTRRRRRT
>our commander is out too
>at least that's an mg42 on top and not a 34
>oh the sounds of brrrrrt, what symphony
>"Keep going forward"
>"/K/rush them"
>not sure if actual orders or just whispers in my mind
>still, cant run out of gas, ight as well get some roadkill
>as the sun set, the last of the charging orcs died
 
>the sunset was beautiful
>romantic even
>was it not for the smell
>and the mangled corpses strewn around
>Both hull and turrett mg are still fuming
>some of the Cromwell crew and the Russians are already scavenging corpses
>I turn off our engine and lean back on my seat
>I throw a glance to the others
>Sven is still looking around
>Giovanni is has gone back in the tank and is getting comfy on his chair
>I fail to see the two walking warcrimes
>I open the driver hatch and peek out to see them walk towards the other Tiger I
>"Where are you going?"
>"Guess anon! We have to do it, it's a matter of cultural...eh..." yells one
>"pride" finishes the other
>they would have looked scary, if not for the ridiculous bags filled with the extra mags they were carrying
>I shrug, south slavs be south slavs
>they walk over to the Teuton larpers
>a couple come out, carrying both some swords and a variety of guns
>the rest stay inside the tank
>that yet again fires an HE round at the village
>fires were already spreading among the huts
>no section of the palisade was left intact
>they walk to the Cromwell and one brit joins them
>before they even reach the Bt-7 the mongol is already out and waiting for them
>scattered shots are heard every half a minute or so
>yelling and commotion too
>no one of ours tho
>at a certain point rapid fire erupts and lasts for a good minute
>soon after all of them came walking out of the burning village
>which in the last minutes has acquired an impressive amounts of fires
>our now fully fledged war criminals look still goofy af with the extra mags all over their body
>and are remarkably clean of blood too
>"what was with the rapid fire?" I manage to ask before the others
>"little boat was fleeing, got some good hits, but still floating"
>we drive the tanks closer to each other for the night and have no watch turns
>"Nobody is alive in there, we are sure" the slavs declare
 
>in the morning we spend some extra time at our "camp"
>lock every hatch
>we go around the village to see if we missed something pillage worthy
>yeah everything was burnt down
>absolutely no superstes for real
>nothing of value was either found or lost
>after that we had a discussion regarding which direction to go next
>the discussion lasted very little before we convened of moving westward
>we all proceed to climb in our tanks
>I give a last glance at the battlefield
>"It was fun" I hear whispered
>"Sure it was" I answer back
>by this point I don't even care if I'm becoming mad or is the actual tank talking to me
>the engines turn on with a roar
>Bt-7 as always takes point, boasting a couple of decorative spears with orc heads skewered on it
>Cromwell follows suit
>Our Tiger I lumbers behind them
>with our usual formation we proceed along the coast
>now, I don't know how much this Tiger in particular is historically accurate, but something tells me that they didn't have cruise control
>in any case, this one has it
>also, I've noticed that it feels extremely nimble, while it shouldn't be
>n-not that I'm complaining
>"Sure it's pretty" I murmur looking at the sea
>"You are pretty" is whispered
>T-tank stop it
 
>even writing down this routine is becoming tedious
>two plus weeks pass by with us going with the drive-camp-sleep routine
>upside is we can take swim a bit during some brakes along the road and fresh fish is on the menu
>was seriously starting to get tired of only eating tourist's delight
>I've been trying to strike up conversation with the tank
>in my immense wisdom and boredom I've decided that my tank is a she
>s-shut up, anyone would've done the same!
>I did manage to get her to open up a bit
>most of my convos are had while everyone else is sleeping
> or when the slavs are providing background noise trough their songs or arguments
>or when Sven uses his stereo to blast some Sabaton
>ofc he has the all the possible Sabaton songs on his stereo
>what a boomer, still with a stereo
>the convos I have with the tank mostly go
>I making comments on the landscape
>I get complimented quickly and then the whispers go silent
>I praise some detail of the tank
>Its hull shudders as if embarassed
>At least that's what I choose to think
>One day, mid of week 6 I believe, she managed to embarass me a lot
>"I like how you handle the controls, I wish I could do the same to you"
>Yes it's creepy, but damnit it's feels good to be appreciated for something
>Can any tanker say that they flirted with a tank and had her (its?) consent?
Tan/k/anon bringing in the continuation of the diary/report

>week 6 proceeds boringly
>thanks to the caring and loving instructions of our two walking warcrimes I learn how to go fishing with grenades
>actually become quite proficient at grenade fishing 
>I'm starting to lose track of time 
>everyone feels stressed from this lack of high adventure
>we are truly high tech murderhobos
>we'll need to start smoking some of the fish we catch for future use
>the chance of becoming starving murderhobos is really within the horizon
>I started having fully fledged conversation with the tank 
>even in the open, to nobody's surprise, surprisingly 
>everyone is too busy finding their own way to preserve sanity
>fuck the tank loves to talk about architecture
>I don't know shit about it
>She's also an amateur poet
>best I ever did was haikus for shit and giggles
>I dedicate one to her
Engine roars
Everything will be crushed
Nothing can stop it
>it went 5-7-5 right?
>fuck is engine 3 or 2 syllables
>doesn't matter, tank loves it 
>Zvonimir the croat hears it 
>laughs and offers his own
Jebote debil
Pickati materina 
Majku ti jebem 
"Fuck you idiot
in your mother's pussy
I fuck your mom"
>an extreme display of slavness and maturity
>him and the serb are starting a Balkan space program powered by their sides
>tank declares it extremely lewd
>I have to concur
>fucking cheater tho, his syllables look easy to divide
>Sven is becoming one with the radio
>has spent the last days checking every existing and non existing frequency looking for anything 
>our good cook/commander Giorgio (which I recently called Giovanni because he has both names) is sunbathing alongside the first fishes that had the honor of becoming our smoked rations
> the other tank crews don't have it any better
>the british empire crew is holding
>but fuck they are starting to behave like they are on a ship
>"slightly to starboard driver!"
>the bong commander has such a stiff upper lip now you could break a brick on it
>Irish is writing gaelic stuff on the turret side, prolly IRA slogans
>aussie is becoming one with his slouch hat, lousy t-shirt and shorts
>the scot has destroyed trousers and sewn a kilt from them
>/k/ube save us the kilt is dangerously short
>the Teuton cosplayers have given up the larping 
>still have tons of paraphernalia and regalia with them 
>one morning notice the they have badly cut tank tops all of a sudden
>and shorts
>all with Teutonic Knights symbols on then tho 
>their tabards are gone too
>who knew that bored men could become so good at sewing
>mongol didn't change
>his eyes still say that the best in life is "To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of their women."
>but for the rest he's pretty chill
>he has started to speak a bit of russian and english too
>he still prefers to growl and gesticulate to communicate
>the two russians have started to play chess with each other non stop
>both apparently suck at chess
>it doesn't prevent them from having a metric shitton of fun as they fail their way to victory 
>on one side you can see how annoyed and stressed everyone is
>on the other side, they way they cope with it it's almost wholesome