We returned to the town, and were greeted by cheering American infantry, and multiple Soviet prisoners. While mostly destroyed, a few buildings remained relatively untouched. Some street lamps were still lit, though no traffic lights worked. Some soldiers sat around a diner, eating MREs. Others entered the bakery, and exited with boxes of doughnuts, laughing and enjoying themselves. Many played cards, and some were playing chess in the ruined library by lamplight. The soviets were were sat down in a park, armed guards with ‘poor trigger discipline’ watching them similar to a how an eagle cautiously watches a bear. Taylor radioes into my headset, breaking my line of thought. >‘Commander. I require sustenance to continue at current efficiency.’ >‘Me too, Commander!’ Sara pokes her head down from the turret hatch. ‘It’s hard managing all these weapons you know! Or... we could do something else that’ll fill me up…’ Her green eyes shimmer with impure intent, and a sly grin appears across her face. >‘You know, Commander, you’re prett- Augh!’ She’s yanked out of view, and replaced by a blushing Stephanie. >‘Commander, I wouldn’t mind getting something e-either. If you could- Hey!’ She’s yanked out of view, just as Sara was. My eyes meet Sara’s emerald eyes once more, as she says to me, >‘Kept you waiting, huh? I’m pretty good at all kinds of things, Commander. Anything you need me to do, I’ll do it.’ Her voice was dripping with lust, obviously implying something lewd. Muffled yelling could be heard from behind her in the turret. >‘Alright then. How’s about you tell me what you guys eat? I could probably requisition some MREs from command.’ I say. I then notice a thin trail of blood on Sara’s face in the dimly lit tank ,with what appears to be a bruise on her forehead. >‘Sara, are you ok? Did you hit your head on something?’ I ask, concerned for my crew. >‘Oh, this?’ Sara says, touching the cut on her forehead. ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.’ My headset crackles again. It’s Taylor. >‘Commander. The fuel gauge is reporting we’re at 2 gallons of fuel. I recommend we find somewhere where we can resupply our fuel.’ >‘Alright then. Take us to the resupply point. We’re going to need to refuel and resupply.’ I order. ----- I stand outside, holding down the high pressure fuel nozzle against the fuel compartment. I glance over the tank, surveying damage done. I thought back to my old M1A1, how broken and torn up she was. The M2 on the CROWS weapon mount was obliterated, with only about half of the receiver remaining. The metal belt feed was shattered, and the left ballistic shield was cracked and blackened. As luck would have it, the optics had survived with minimal damage, but the optic cable was cut by shrapnel. Drops of clear hydraulic liquid flowed from the disabled turret, reflecting the bright light from the floodlights. The leak was quickly patched up by engineers. The left ERA panels, was blown out from the RPGs, were simply replaced by additional ERA panels. Wanting to double check for any penetration, I reached underneath the armored side skirt, feeling for a possible penetration. I thought I felt a bulge under the side skirt, but when I felt around the area again, there was no bulge to be found. >‘Huh. I coulda sworn there was a bulge there. Must’ve been my imagination.’ I thought to myself. The CROWS was deemed still operational, but the engineers told me that the optical cable was cut, and there was no way to field repair it. We’d have to return to a base to fix it. We could still operate the machine gun, but there was no optical feed. They swapped out the M2 on it and linked the metal belt feed back together. In addition to field repairs, they popped open the autoloader mechanism, and cleaned and lubed it. I went over the autoloader once more with lube, ensuring every part was thoroughly wet, and meticulously cleaned spots where the engineers did a shoddy job. I caught a few words they had about the autoloader. >‘Did you see that thing? Holy shit, that’d be a nightmare to clear if it jammed! I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that tank. I feel bad for that commander. It must be scary knowing that if your autoloader locks up, your tank is out of the fight.’ >‘Yeah, I know what you mean, man. Did you see the name of the autoloader though? It had a weird designation. Probably because of the cylinder contraption.’ >‘It was ST3F-1N13 or something right? There’s no way that’s going to make it into mass production. A autoloader with a revolving cylinder? It’d be way too expensive to field on every tank. It’s better to have an extra pair of eyes to help scan for threats anyways.’ >‘Yeah, you’re probably right. I just like that fact that you can get 4 shots off rapidly, before needing to take a moment to reload the whole cylinder. That’s a huge firepower advantage.” >‘Right, right. I gotta go get shit ready for the M3 linebackers. High command said to get ready for an air assault, but I doubt that’s going to happen. I’ll probably get shitfaced in half an hour. What are they gonna do? Replace me? Hah! They need every engineer, and they know it. And I know it. Besides, the regular bradleys can probably handle whatever crappy helicopters Ivan throws at us. Fuck working on the Linebackers.’ I stopped listening at that point, and returned to the tank. The supply unit left us with a full load of 40mm grenades, 120mm rounds, and .50 BMG, but no replacement 5.56 caseless ammunition for the APS. I loaded as much extra ammunition as I could along the turret basket, just in case. I ‘acquired’ an M9 Beretta from a crate of firearms, along with 3 magazines for it. Additionally, I picked a case of 4 MREs, and tossed them into the tank. As I peeked up into the turret to hand the crew their MREs, I was greeted with a slap from a red-faced Stephanie, a pouty look from Sara, and a simple ‘Pervert’ from Taylor. I rubbed my cheek, trying to ease the sting, while my brain went into overdrive trying to figure out what I did wrong to deserve such reactions from my crew. Whatever. I was going to sleep. I’d worry about it tomorrow. The last thing I heard before succumbing to tiredness was Sara muttering under her breath. >‘He fools around with everyone else, but not me…’ ---- The sounds of warfare jolt me awake. Explosions and the sounds of helicopters fill the air. The radio’s going off with panicked yelling from everyone, all on the same radio frequency, from tank commanders to squad leaders. >‘They’re fucking everywhere! Left! Left! Shoo- ARGHHHHHHH!’ >‘Watch out! Missile! Take cover!’ >‘I’m hit! I’m hit! I need a medic!’ >‘Where’s our AA? Get those Linebackers here, NOW!’ >‘This is Hoplite 3-3! We’re under infantry assault! We need a squad here now! Hoplite 3-2, on your left! RPG! Shit! Hoplite 3-2 is down!’ >‘This is Warhorse 1! Enemy Mi-28s are slaughtering us! We just lost Warhorse 2! Warhorse 2 has been wiped out! We’re pulling out now! The town is lost! I repeat! The town is lost!’ >‘This is Sgt. Pyle! Russian Mi-8s are dropping troops! Archer 3 is getting overrun! Send reinforcements! Send them now!’ >‘All units, this is Odin! No one retreat! If we lose this town, we lose Oregon! Not one step back!’ A Mi-8 flies over, and illuminates our tank with its searchlight. >‘Gunner! Knock that helicopter out of the sky!’ I order. >‘I’m trying! The Mk. 19 isn’t designed for this!’ Sara replies. The Mk. 19 chugs, sending 40mm HEDP rounds arcing into the air towards the helicopter. I see 3 impacts right to left, one to the tail, one to the fuselage, and one right into the cockpit. The Mi-8’s cockpit implodes from the impact, the pilots riddled with glass and shrapnel. It spins out of control, and crashes into the town church’s bell tower. >‘All units, this is Odin! Report in!’ >‘I repeat! All units! This is Odin Actual! SITREP!’ >‘This is Archer 4! Archer 1 through 3 are KIA! Archer 5 has been captured!’ A burst of fire interrupts the radio chatter. >‘Warhorse is completely KIA! We have no armored support!’ Another voice pipes up on the radio. >‘This is Hoplite 2-4! I’m the last active of my unit! Where the fuck were those Linebackers? We’ve got no goddamn AA! Those Mi-28s and Mi-24s are fucking us up!’ A helicopter can be heard over the radio, buzzing Hoplite 2-4’s position. >‘Target left! 2nd floor! Shit! Enemy Helicopter! Gunner-’ Hoplite 2-4’s transmission turned to static. >‘Odin, this is Paladin! We’re operational! Where do you need us?’ I radio. >‘Paladin? Get over to the town hall! Where the hell have you been? We need to to hold to the line until air support arrives!’ >‘Affirmative! We’re rolling now!’ I respond. >‘Driver! Get us moving! Town hall!’ I order. >‘Yes, Sir. Moving.’ Taylor replies. The engine sputters to life and we begin rolling down the street, as dawn breaks. ----------- Next part: https://pastebin.com/hjWqefeW