The city hall had collapsed under its own weight, the supporting frame and structure compromised by 80mm HE S-8 rockets, 30mm HE-I rounds, and 40mm GP-25 grenades. Inside, alive and still kicking were the remains of Archer 4 and Odin, the command unit. M16A2s unleashed 3 round bursts of 5.56mm, while underslung M203s launched 40mm HE into Soviet-occupied buildings that surrounded the town hall. The staccato of bursts from an M60E4 locked down the main street, preventing any infantry from advancing. The Lieutenant in command was issuing orders, firing his sidearm, and requesting fire-support from a artillery battalion simultaneously. >‘What do you mean fifteen minutes? We won’t last five with Ivan breathing down our necks! I don’t care if this the town is flattened! I need fire support!’ An Mi-24 swooped in, hovering menacingly in front of the ruined city hall. An M60 opened up on it, the 7.62mm rounds bouncing harmlessly off of the armor. A M72 LAW was fired at the Hind, the rocket burning a dull orange as it streaked through the air. Moving laterally, the Hind expertly avoided the rocket as the 12.7mm chaingun began to spin. >‘пулеметчик, стрелять’ >BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT A long of line of spent casings fell from the ‘chin’ of the Hind gunship. A thin, nearly unbroken line of green tracers engulfed the collapsed city hall. Seemingly uncontent with hosing the building with hundreds of 12.7mm rounds, the Mi-24 unleashed a volley of S-8 HE rockets into the building, completely flattening it. Before the gunship could disengage from the destruction of the city hall, it was greeted by a hail of 40mm grenades from the XM1A1E7. HEDP 40mm blew sizable dents into the fuselage of the the Hind, chipping away at the titanium hull. A lucky round impacted on the stub wing of the Mi-24, detonating the remaining S-8 rockets. >‘сука!’ Missing it’s left stub wing, black smoke pouring from it’s left engine, the Mi-24 limped away whilst dumping flares, mortally wounded. Inside the tank, Anon swallowed nervously. He now stood alone, against an entire Soviet heliborne division. No matter effective the APS was, the tank simply couldn’t handle entrenched infantry burrowed into buildings. >‘Driver, reverse. I want us out of this town. Gunner, weapons free. Keep your eyes peeled. Loader, load HE. I’m getting on the M2.’ I order. I clamber up, into the loader’s hatch, and mount the M2 CROWS. Eyes on swivel, I constantly scan the rooftops for an RPG gunner. To my bewilderment, the 7.62 coax started firing. Swinging the .50 around, I unload into the building that Sara had targeted. While under fire from a HMG, a Soviet soldier managed to toss a RDG-2 smoke grenade into the street, obscuring my line of sight. An additional burst of .50 BMG was fired in retaliation. The heavy KA-CHUNK KA-CHUNK of the Mk.19 right next to me threatened to deafen me. Then, disaster struck. The Mk. 19’s KA-CHUNK turned into a disheartening KER-CHANG. Dread filled my entire being when I realised the Mk. 19 had jammed. A resounding yell of ‘URAAAA!!!’ sent a chill down my spine. Through the smoke, a horde of Soviets came full sprint at us. >‘Driver! Reverse, full speed! Gunner! Fire!’ I yell into the turret as I unleash another burst into the oncoming tide of red. Red tracers met flesh and bone, tearing huge chunks out of men, even ripping some in half. The barrel of the M2 began to turn a dull orange, and wisps of smoke began to rise off the barrel. Still, the mass of infantry seemed unfazed. From a the second story of a house, an RPG was fired. Too close to intercept, it struck the engine deck at an oblique angle, detonating, but without much effectiveness. >‘Commander. *cough* The engine is unresponsive. We *cough* are immobilized.’ Taylor informs me through my headset. The tide of human bodies had reached the tank, and they began to clamber on. >‘..Override! Fire!’ I hear briefly. The Metal Storm APS activates, and fires into the horde, liquefying an entire row of russians. I pull the M9 and magdump into the nearest Soviet boarder. The M9 stovepipes on the 3rd round fired. Within seconds, I am pulled forcefully from the tank, punching and kicking. As I get choked out, I can hear one last scream from inside the tank, from Stephanie, before everything begins fade to black. ----- I awaken with my hands tied behind my back, laying on my side. A black burlap hood covers my head, making it hard to breathe. The sounds of dripping water echoed in my surroundings. Somewhere in my confinement, a door opened. Footfalls clacked against the concrete. A rusty hinge creaks as they open up my door. >‘First Sergeant Anon. Former commander of a M1A1 Abrams, under the callsign of ‘Hammer 1-2.’ Assigned to the frontline to assist in the failed siege of Glade Falls. An honorable man, now taken captive. Tell me, Sergeant, what kind of military abandons their men?’ I was asked. Ripping off the hood, my eyes adjusted to the brightness of my cell. In front of me was a Russian in a Tsar Green military formal dress, reading off of a dossier, with my picture on it. 2 Soviet soldiers enter along with him, and heft me to my feet. >‘Sergeant Anon, I, and I alone, have the ability to make your life hell or heaven. As long as you are under my care, you will comply with my demands or deal with the consequences,’ He gets up into my face, his breath reeking of vodka. >‘Now, tell me, Sergeant. How do you operate the tank?’ I spit into his face. >‘Ack!’ He wipes his face. ‘Very well.’ He says to me, before barking an order to the guards. >‘охрана, перевоспитывать его’ My kidney is greeted with the butt of a rifle, and I crumble to the floor of the cell. The guards both crack a smile. >‘Вы наш сука, американский.’ Long hours of ‘interrogation’ and ‘physical encouragement’ ensued. ------- I had lost count of the number of days gone by. I’d lost weight from the lack of nutrition, fed gruel and water, as the guards outside ate barbeque, agonizing me. One day, the officer came back, this time, with a briefcase in hand. Again, I was restrained by the 2 guards. >‘Sergeant, this will be the last time I ask you. Tell us how to activate the tank.’ He says. >‘Go fuck yourself, you commie son of a bitch!’ I say, weakly. He gives me a disgusted look. >‘Very well.’ He opens his briefcase, revealing a screen, and a set of surgical tools. He switches the screen on, revealing American POWs. >‘I wonder what you fear more, Sergeant. Torture? Or the fact that you sentenced these men to their death?’ I try not to reveal anything with my facial expressions. >‘Ah, I see.’ The officer picks up a phone from the case, and dials a number. >‘Comrade Commissar, what are your orders?’ A thick russian accent says over the phone. >‘Execute one of the американский.’ >‘Yes, Sir.’ was the response. I watched in horror as a private was dragged into view of the camera, and shot in the head at point blank range, his body then dragged off screen. The KGB officer looks at me once more. >‘Sergeant, for each answer you refuse to answer, one of your brothers will pay with his life. Now, answer the questions.’ He says menacingly. I say nothing. 3 more men were executed before I give in. >‘The tank … can only be operated by an authorised commander. It has a biometric locking system. Only I can operate it.’ I lie. >‘I see.’ Turning towards the guards, he barks another order, before packing up the suitcase, and leaving the cell. >‘охрана, эскорт его к танк.’ With those words, I am dragged from my cell. A few days later... After being in the cell for so long, the sunlight blinds me momentarily. I’m in a prison complex, captured by the Soviets and converted into a POW camp. DShKs in the guard towers, aimed inwards, along with searchlights. Razor wire lined the tops of fences. A buffer zone, made of a single strand of barbed wire about 15 feet from the fence, held a sign on a post. It read: >‘STAND BACK. LANDMINE HAZARD.’ with a picture of a man stepping on a landmine. Looking around, I noticed a few areas where the dirt was unnatural, seemingly moved to cover a mine. I felt a blow land on the back of my head. >‘No look, Amerikanski!’ one of the guards said in broken English. I let my head fall, and look only at the pavement. -------- Before long, I’m forced into a car at gunpoint. The ride wasn’t long, but I couldn’t see anything due to the hood they put over my head. Once again, I was lead out of the GAZ, and dragged into some sort of building. As they remove the hood, I can see I’m in some sort of warehouse. Rows and rows of Russian armored vehicles line the walls. This must be their armor pool. If only I knew where this was, I could maybe order a bomb strike. We exit the warehouse, which was probably a scare tactic to intimidate me. What did intimidate me was the amount of anti-air defenses the russians had placed. Dual IGLA chair-turrets, SA-6 missiles on some sort of tracked vehicle, and ZU-23-2 AA emplacements. I even spotted a radar and a ZU-23-4 on the top of a hospital. The KGB officer turned to me, and spoke. >‘You see, Sergeant? All of this firepower? Our ships have been transporting these day and night. America cannot stand against the might of the Soviet Union! Even your allies refuse to help you after Europe! This airspace is impenetrable!’ To punctuate his sentence, a flight of MiG-29s streak overhead, unleashing 3 simultaneous sonic booms. The KGB officer laughs. >‘There is no hope of escape. No one to save you. Now, come.’ He pauses, as looks at my face. >‘Ah. You see it already. Yes. We are indeed taking you to your beloved tank. We’ve tried to open it up already, but it remains locked. You, Sergeant, will unlock the tank for me. Your comrades’ lives depend on it.’ Approaching the tank, I hesitate to unlock it. >‘Am I a traitor to my country for doing this? Is this worth the lives of those men?’ I debate internally. >‘What’s taking so long, Sergeant? Surely you have no second thoughts?’ The officer asks. Before I can respond, something detonates. As alarms wail, and the guards and officer are temporarily distracted, I unlock the driver’s hatch by pulling on the emergency release pin, which the russians had somehow managed to overlook. By the time they turned around, I was waist-deep into the hatch. Drawing a PSM in the blink of an eye, the KGB officer aimed at me. >‘Not so fast, Sergeant! I don-’ Gunfire erupted, and the KGB officer’s words were cut short by 6 well placed rounds of American 5.56. As the life drained from the officer’s face, I snatched the PSM as it landed on the hull of the XM1A1E7. I fired 6 rounds into the right guard before he could raise his rifle, as another 3-round burst struck the other russian. Looking around for my saviors, I spotted 2 men wearing M81 woodland and facepaint, with M16s. They bound forward, and came up to me. >‘Are you alright? Do you ne- Wait! Commander Anon, is that you?’ One says. >‘Hyde? I thought you were shipped to Bannon’s platoon! And is that you Johnson? I said, confused. >‘I’ll explain later, but we need to go! Raider 1 has disabled their radar, and Raider 2 is freeing the POWs right now, but we need to sabotage their fuel depot. Do you have any idea where their motor pool is?’ Hyde says as he shows me his satchel full of C-4. >‘Yeah, it’s right around here! Follow me, I’ll show you.’ I proclaim. Hopping out of the the tank, I discard the PSM, and pick up an AK-74 from one of the dead guards. I lead them to the warehouse, who then plant bricks of C-4 onto the GAZ-66 tank trucks. Before we can escape the warehouse, a crew of soviet tankers rush inside, heading for their tanks. Thinking quickly, I snatch a grenade off of Johnson’s webbing, and sprint towards the the T-80U they’re mounting. The commander looks up after entering the turret, finding an AK-74 muzzlebreak aimed at his face. He looks on in horror as I drop the grenade down inside the tank, before his face welcomes the 5.45mm round entering his cranium. The grenade detonates inside the tank, amist screaming from the crew. One attempts to crawl out of the emergency hatch, who I put out of misery with a burst of 5.45. Hyde and Johnson have finished their sabotage, as another squad of russian tankers enter the warehouse, their AKS-74u raised, having heard the gunfire. I fire again, cutting down one russian, before the bakelite mag runs dry. The remaining russians seek cover from my position. They return fire, pinning me down behind the T-80U’s turret. More gunfire erupts as Hyde and Johnson engage from the russian’s flank. As the russians attempt to reposition from being flanked, I grab onto the T-80U’s pintle mounted DShK, and rack the charging handle. >DUSHKDUSHKDUSHKDUSHKDUSHKDUSHK 12.7mm rounds tear through concrete, flesh, and bone, disintegrating the russians. My ears were left numb after that burst; I did not have any hearing protection in, and firing a heavy machine gun with a muzzle break indoors is generally not healthy for your ears. >‘Anon! Lets go!’ I hear through the EEEEEEEEEEEEE Jumping down off of the T-80, we run back to the XM1A1E7. ------- MiGs fly overhead, on high alert. A Mi-8TVK Hip-E gunship flew overhead in a search pattern. The three of us clamber into the cramped abrams. >‘Just like old times, commander!’ Johnson says. ‘A bit more cramped though!’ >‘Where’s the turret? How do I gun, commander?’ Hyde asks. >‘It’s unmanned. It’s designed to be operated by one person.’ I say. >‘Where’s the hatch to the turret? Where’s the girls? Did they get captured too?’ I think to myself, shuddering at the thought of what russian soldiers would do to captured female tankers. >‘Stephanie! Taylor! Sara! Where are you?’ I yell inside the tank. Hyde and Johnson give me odd looks. >‘Who are you yelling for?’ Hyde asks. >‘Sorry. Johnson, get on that console there. Hyde, the gunner controls are there.’ I direct them. >‘Anon, the Mk. 19’s jammed. I don’t have visual feed on the M2 either,’ Hyde informs me. ‘I’m not too sure how to operate the gun, Commander.’ >‘The engine’s shafted, Commander!’ Johnson says from behind. ‘I don’t have any response!’ They hadn’t repaired the Abrams since the battle. >‘Shit, I’ll go and try to unfuck us! Stay here, make sure that gunship doesn’t spot us!’ I order. I exit the tank through the driver’s hatch again. Climbing onto the turret, I open up the Mk. 19. A faulty grenade was the source of the failure. I extract the grenade, readjust the belt back onto the feed tray, and close the Mk. 19 again. Using both hands, I pull on the charging handle, sending the bolt to the rear. I jump down from the turret to the engine deck, glancing over the damage. Luckily, RPG missed the engine, and had struck the speed governor. Unable to tell the speed, the computer shut the engine down for safety purposes. Although we’d run a small chance of the engine exploding, it would be a simple fix. >‘We’ve disabled the radar on the hospital! There’s MiGs in the air, but we need that strike, Sir! We won’t last much longer without supplies! This is our only opportunity to poke a hole in Ivan’s air defense net!’ Johnson says on the radio. ‘There’s a russian armor pool on 6th and Albert! The warehouse is full of russian heavy armor! We could hit that as well!’ I look at Johnson, wondering who he’s radioing. From what I heard, it must be someone trying to coordinate supply drops and combat sorties. >‘Yes Sir! We’ve already evacuated the POWs! Wha- Thank you, Sir!’ Johnson turns to me. >‘Good news, commander! We’ve got a airstrike approved! We’ve got a 10 minute window to get the out of strike zone!’ I spring into commander mode. >‘The Mk. 19 should be unjammed now! Johnson, remove the speed governor protocol from the engine, that should start it up!’ I say. ‘Hyde, you’re on the 120. Use the joystick. I’ve got the Mk.19.’ >‘Johnson, get us the fuck outta here!’ Hyde says. The engine sputters, but starts. Gunfire can be heard throughout the city. >‘Driver! Forward!’ ------------- Next part: https://pastebin.com/H5UdqHM2