It’s still in the middle of the night when a heavy leather boot hits your shoulder a few times.

¤ Come
“What time is it…?”
¤ Half 3. Come, now
“Natal-”
¤ Quit bitching, right now. Come and listen

Natalya bends her legs and forcefully pulls out of the bed by your arm

“Fuck off Natalya i went to bed like two hours ago”

A kick hits you in your ribcage. Light enough not to hurt you properly, but hard enough to show you she was serious

¤ Right. Fucking. Now

You groan a little more than necessary, drag a pair of pants, wear the blanket as a cape and follow Natalya. In the freezing cold attic of the house she had set up a little radio kit, with an antenna probably on the roof

She sits down on the ancient floorboards next to a set of high quality headphones and gestures you to pick them up

The radio channel Natalya has found has a 5 or so minute long message being played on repeat

“Shit”
¤ Yes, it’s pretty bad
“Fuck. Uhm, you got a smoke to spare?”
¤ Mhm

The two of you spent some time just staring into the little radio, smoking some early morning moments away. There wasn’t much to be said or done. Of course, no one could be 100% certain of any info at this early stage. But if new like this hit was broadcasted in radio frequencies theoretically accessible by civilians, it was probably true, confirmed, checked and double checked

¤ What pisses me off…

Natalya had put her hands to the cold floor, the last little bit of the cigarette between her second and third finger. She has to take another few breaths before she can try again

¤ What pisses me off…

Her voice was trailing off at the end.
For some reason you remember an old black and white film recording from american planes from the second world war. One in particular, a B-17 that had been hit by… something. The top of the planes was covered in blood from the Flight engineer when his turret was shot. One engine was completely stopped and was spewing out black smoke. The side of the plane was covered in holes. The stabilized had a large chunk on the top missing. The men inside were probably scared. Would the plane come home to England again? Would they live until sundown? It was as if the plane wanted them to come home. As if it was fueled by spite as much as avgas

Was that what you felt about Natalya now? A relic from a time long past, taking her last, dying breaths before plummeting towards the earth?

But just as the B-17 screaming out its hatred for the whole world on it’s way down, all while making sure it didn’t have a single round of ammunition when it was reunited with the cold, hard ground, Natalya had probably no intentions of giving up.

She looked miserable. Her eyes were cold and dull, hair was messy and her face wore an expression of exhaustion.

There wasn’t much else to do but go back to bed. Natalya stumbled more than she walked but managed to get to her bed. You were only half dressed to begin with and hit the sack soon afterwards

“Do we tell the others?”
¤ We’re gonna get briefed tomorrow anyway. Helen will have some half sketchy information, and either look like an idiot because it’s only vague info, or look weak because she has to ask me for help
¤ How would it change things? We’re still fighting full time, and we will until the Army’s new steel tanks come fighting in numbers. Actually… some things might happen. Let me sleep on it
“They are already in production, anyway”
¤ I’ve seen this pattern before. Out of the production line, and drive straight into a battle
“You’ve seen it? Did you-”
¤ Yes. But not in Europe. Had my run in Manchuria. Not any real fighting. Not just peaceful either, though

She sighs heavily

“Don’t have to go there if you don’t want to”
¤ Just be happy you don’t see war between people. Much nicer to fight along each other

Your thought went to Lily, again.

“Yeah…”
¤ Don’t give up on things yet
“What?”
¤ Good night

And so it was all silent. Natalya left her bed sometime later to do something else but you valued the little sleep you got

A few hour later you stood in a crowd of people shivering in the cold and waiting for Helen to read the paper she held

‘Ladies and gentlemen’ She began, not a hint of trembling in her voice, despite the heavy topic that she had to inform on

‘I have good news, if you’ve bought if you shares in companies producing ammunition. There are more coming. More of them. But-’

And then she goes on about fighting spirit and protecting our planet. Her speech was inspiring, and there was some cheering from people, but there was something missing, Which was confirmed by Miranda. She came walking over in a comically oversized dune jacket a few minutes later. Her face was barely visible under the fur lining the hood. Only her small figure and the fact she took her glasses of every two minutes because they fogged up revealed who she actually was
+ Natalya?
¤ Yes?
+ Do you know when they are going to land? Or where?
¤ A few weeks from now i’d assume. As far as location goes, don’t know exactly. I have written a guess down in my book. I’ll show you if it turns out to be correct

Unbeknownst to both, they were on very different places. Miranda would have been happy with answers like “the southern hemisphere”, “the ocean” or “far away from here”. Natalya’s guess was far more precise. Through sitting up with her radio all night, and decoding what she could with pen, paper and a laptop, she could find suggestions of a “estimated landing area” of just over half a million square miles.

By reading, guessing, learning from previous mistakes and estimating, she could place their landing in a circle of about 3 square mile area. She would of course never tell anyone about that until it was confirmed. Natalya didn’t like being wrong almost as much as she liked being right. But only almost

She has more pressing issues to attend to at the moment. Namely, her tank falling to pieces. The engine was the same that was fitted since 1945, a 38.8 liter V12 unit confusingly named “Kharkiv V-2”. It made 600 horsepower in 1945, but had since been thoroughly modified to raise that number just into four digits. But raising the power of an engine very seldom helped with reliability. The engine had been rebuilt twice since, and was now very much singing on its last verse. It had started drinking uncomfortably much motor oil. Natalya couldn’t feel or control her tank the same way Lily could, but she could feel how this engine was on its last dying breath. She felt a deep rumbling feeling from the bottom of her gut how the poor thing didn’t want to run at all, much less propel a 50 ton heavy tank.
But sooner or later it was going to give out. Of course, an engine could be replaced. It would take a lot of time and work, but it could be done. The cracks that had started forming in the back of the fighting compartment, on the other hand was a problem. A large one had its base in the bottom right corner of the firewall separating the fighting and engine compartment, by the 5th road wheel, and running forwards a full two feet forwards

If more welds give out, the tank is a write off

Natalya of course did what she could, welding triangle shaped wedges to the inner hull to try and keep it together. But this wasn’t really something that could be fixed, it was about buying time. And she would do that as much as possible. Until the day the mighty IS-3 finally gave up, she would keep buying time


Very far away, at about the same time, Lily was downing another cup of coffee. She was not particularly picky before but the luxury she could get now was really starting to get to her. The coffee’s she were drinking were small, trendy things that would look more fitting on the table of an italian café than in the hands of a fighter. Her clothes were properly washed and ironed at all times, bedsheets washed for every night and she ate three properly cooked meals a day. Such was the power that came with just her name, and a little practical demonstration.
All this had happened in the last month. Irma, the caretaker of the Elefant had had a long talk with her. Lily had been fed… old ideas and promises of greatness. They both ended up in the place where the Maus was being finalized, a factory complex that had been repurposed as a workshop. Since the Jagdtiger was already running, It didn’t get much attention from the staff there, but just a new coat of paint, making it look very much like it did in about this time of year in 1945 and new mudguards

Most of the workers were volunteers, which was interesting considering the Maus restauration, which now had the Elefant dragging along aswell was made by a private company that mostly got their money from donation and monetization money from making videos and filming the whole process. Turns out a certain interest in old tanks had spiked in the last year because of what the could do against this adversary. She could hand pick a new crew. They were not especially well trained, but extremely dedicated.

During peacetime, several questions about political affiliations would have been raised in the case of this company. But in times as unstable as these, most were just happy some extra machines fought off the invaders

‘Miss Nibelung, do-’

Lily knew exactly where this discussion would go

>Are you going to ask me if i need anything again?
‘I only want to make sure-’
>Cut it. I’m not a child, if i need anything i’ll get it myself
‘We only want to-’
>Guarantee my satisfaction, yeah, i get it. I can take care of myself. How is the machine doing
‘It has been serviced. New engine oil, coolant and transmission fluid. It has also been washed externally. There was however a bag in the fighting compartment which has been removed’
>Wait, a bag?
‘Yes, by the commander's position’
>And you got it out?!
‘Y-yes miss Nibelung, it is highly inadvisable to have loose items in the fight-’
>Shush!!
Lily’s voice was cold, piercing and authoritative

>Do not ever again tell me how to use my Jagdpanzer. What to have in it, what to shoot, where to drive. Understood?
‘Y-yes’
>Good. Now leave before you upset me further

The man was about to reply again, but the face Lily was making made it very obvious she didn’t want to hear it anymore. The man left immediately. He knew what happened the last time Lily got angry. Then again, he only knew her as “Miss Nibelung”. No one here had even heard Larissa, or her pet name, Lily. Irma had convinced her to use something something she mostly had written down in a paper half a year ago to have a middle name. Erika. Like the girl from the song. And now that was the only thing Irma, or anyone else called her.

That was her fifth name. First, a name given to her by her parents. She gave it up on her fifteenth birthday, when her training began. Then she got a designation. Twelve digits. Her year of birth, month, date and four personal digits. Her peers were not allowed to call her anything else but the last three of these digits. 024. It was intentionally made to be impersonal. To not get attached to anyone. To make sure you see them as competitors, and not friends. Friendship was something formed on the battlefield anyway. It took years of struggle and studies. She fought her way to the top. Many of her… competitors didn’t make it. Lost in exercises. Accidents. Some fell down stairs, some slipped in the showers. The woman that was later going to be called Lily learned the game. She fought dirty. Learned who to trust when. Learned to find people's weaknesses, and how to exploit them.
024 grew into a truly terrifying woman. She obeyed the rules in the smallest, pettiest detail when that benefited her, and broke them like no tomorrow when she needed. Everything was calculated. Risk versus reward. And she played her cards very well. So well, she ended up among the top 100 in the entire Reich. Enough to get her hands on a Jagdtiger.

When the ceremony, and the binding with the machine was complete, she got a new name. Or a new number, rather. 186-331. 186 being the designation for the Jagdtiger and 331. And 186-331 was to become truly terrifying by the 128mm gun. Her record was much above average. She kept crew morale high, but most importantly, Jagdtiger 331 never seemed to break down. The transmission kept working, so did the final drive, and so did the engine. Jagdtiger 331 was often the only operational vehicle of the Schwerer Panzerjäger Abteilung 653

Lily’s bond with the vehicle was not the strongest right away, but it was as if she understood it. If it felt pain, Lily helped it. She took the pain away from it, and took it herself instead. Many could do a little of what she could, but no where near as much. She smoothed out the gear changes, the clutch, final drive, everything.

It would drive her slowly insane, resulting with… the events by a small french village in late winter in 1945

Lily shuddered. These people had no idea. They didn’t know anything, she thought as she finally got hold of the black rucksack found in the fighting compartment. Your rucksack
Of course, you barely remembered you had lost it. If it contained anything important. It wasn’t your phone, computer, wallet or gun. Those were the important things. Other things could be replaced. You didn’t think much of it at all. you would probably never think of that black rucksack again, unless someone asked

But to someone else, many miles away, they had more weight. It wasn’t much in the bag. Two half liter bottles of water, some canned food, including peaches in syrup. A few shell casings from the defence of the depot. Some first aid, and… a spare T-shirt.

This T-shirt… that first day.

The woman now called Erika clutched the piece of cloth in her hand. Anger was boiling up in her. Not regret. She didn’t do regret, it was pointless. But anger, she was very good at. Especially controlling that anger into a calm and controlled fury. Lily could let her emotions be an advantage in battle. It was difficult to get that far, but with experience it was possible

And right now, she was looking for an excuse to start a fight. Anything would do. But then everything she had done this last month would be a waste.


~ ~ ~


"What do you mean they didn't allow me in the car?"
¤ That's not it. I feel far more comfortable with you in the seat than the new guy. He can drive ahead and scout and do the rest of these light vehicle things
"He can. And he does have a name"
¤ Yes. He does

Natalya was referring to the young man who got very interested in tanks after Lily's demonstration a few months ago. Sadly, Michel completely lacked talent, and couldn't keep his head cool in combat situations. At all

"You really want me to command the IS-3?"
¤ Yes. My only interest right now is winning this war
"Didn't seem that way two nights ago"
Natalya seemed genuinely embarrassed, and her voice got hushed
¤ I have not been given much affection...
"Sorry, didn't mean it like that"
¤ There is only comradeship between us anyway. You know what you are fighting for. Anyway, the tank's chances of being successful in combat will increase with you commanding it
"Seems rather simple when you put it like that"

Natalya's spoon dings against the almost empty can and she gulps down the last of the soup

¤ I'd rather not beg. But if that becomes ne-
"Please don't. I'd hate to see you do that"
¤ A yes then?
"Yeah"
A dozen tired figures sit by the crackling fire. Most had gone to sleep already. Tomorrow was going to be a long day
¤ What are you even doing?
Natalya pushes Miranda a little with her leg
+ Huh? What?
¤ You spend a lot of time with your face buried in your phone. Did you hear anything we say?
+ Uhm...
Miranda did of course have no idea what you and Natalya discussed.
+ Sorry, i didn't listen
¤ Anon will command the IS-3 from here
+ From here onwards
"Wait a minute now..."

You halt yourself before continuing the sentence
¤ Yes?
"I thought you just wanted me for the journey?"
¤ Ideally, we wouldn't need a commander at all. But that is not how war works
"I'm insurance?"
¤ Don't say that...
"Sorry. I'll do what's best for the tank"
¤ Thank you. Really
Miranda taps away on her phone, sending a message to somewhere. But unusually for her, she puts the phone away when the message is sent. And then stands up

+ I’m gonna get some sleep

Miranda gets her lithe body of the folding chair and heads away. Something about her was off. She never went to bed voluntarily. She usually stayed up all night and played video games or something, and usually went to bed as the sun was about to go up.

“Isn’t that a little odd?”
¤ What?
“Miranda going off and sleeping like that?”
¤ Guess she just wants some sleep
“She just sleeps at day anyway”
¤ Maybe she’s growing up?

You turn to Natalya with a very doubting face

¤ Don’t look at me like i know anything
“Whatever has gotten into her, sleep is probably a good idea”
¤ Don’t wait for me
“Alright. See ya”

Natalya mumbles something and you head off to the excuse you had for a bed. At any rate it was better than the floor. Barely. The rumbling of engines far away, the quiet murmur of people downstairs, the wind above you. It was all calming noises, and you fell asleep within minutes

Natalya entered the room half an hour later. She walked over to her own bed, sat down and was halfway down unzipping her jacket before she stops. Stops and thinks. She sits for several minutes and just thinks. She looks absent. As if she is concentrating so much on thinking her eyes were just there to look cold.

After a little while she stands up, check that her pistol has a round in the chamber and leaves the room.
If anyone outside her would have seen her, it would have been very obvious she was not in a playing mood. Her steps were long and determined, her gaze piercing. Eventually, she arrives at the M60A2 and quickly and silently jumps up on the upper glacis and makes her way to the turret. Miranda always slept inside the tank on a pile of pillows and blankets

Natalya flicked the hatch open and slid inside. Miranda spun around in her fortress of soft things, half blind from the darkness and not having her glasses on
¤ Easy, it’s me
+ N-natalya, you f-finally…
¤ What’s up with that voice? I need to see your phone
+ W-what? My phone?
¤ Yes, now.

Miranda sees the gun, and blurts something out as confirmation. Her voice went from something Natalya couldn’t identify at all, into confusion and disappointment in the space of ten seconds

Miranda hands over her phone. One of the last pre-war models, a very powerful thing, with one too many stickers on the back

¤ Unlock it
+ Natalya…
¤ Now

The Soviet couldn’t see it, but the girl had tears started forming in her eyes. Miranda drew a pattern on the phone and it unlocked itself with a click

Curiously, the wallpaper depicts an IS-2 in a snowy landscape with a figure standing in front of it.

Natalya didn’t bother much, but just navigated her way straight to the messages. The first name was one of the other caretakers, but the second name… Natalya taps the name, and start reading the last in a log of messages. The last was sent 45 minutes ago, and simply stated “Anon has been recruited to the IS-3”

¤ Miranda…

The smaller girl was shaking

¤ You must realize what Helen will do if she finds out about this
+ I w-won’t unlock it for her
¤ The same way you didn’t unlock it for me?

Miranda was now crying
+ It’s n-not the same…
¤ She won’t care. Who knows about this?
+ No one. Helen doesn’t know, and she knows everything
¤ Helen doesn’t know shit. Keep it that way. Understood?
+ Y-yes
¤ We have to speak more about this later. But for now, keep silent about this and go to sleep. I have to do so as well


Natalya stands up and moves the hatch aside, before Miranda yelps out a “wait”. She wanted to say it, she wanted to say it so bad. But tonight, just like all other times, it was not to be. She lowers her head in defeat and sighs out two words

+ G-good night…
¤ Sleep

The taller woman eases her way out of the old MBT and skips down to the ground. A cold breeze of air reminds her she never closer her jacket properly. She zipped it up, not giving it any more thought and went back to the house and into bed.

The day after that a massive steel convoy was on the move. Engines roared and poured out thick diesel smoke. The pace was set at a calm 25 mph. All tanks could do that easily, and fuel consumption could be kept at a somewhat reasonable amount

Unlike the Jagdtiger, the commander of the IS-3 sat behind the gunner, on the left hand side of the gun

Grey aimed the gun. She had the same role in the old T30 before that vehicle was hit, and initiating her decay. Crammed in underneath the turret roof sat the rather short blonde trying to imitate a caretaker in the Panzer IV. The rest of the crew just called her “Loader”. And it seems she was so used to this, and Lily’s rant a few months ago left an impression on her. She was just Loader now, as a punishment of sorts.
Natalya had her seat in the hull, as the driver. She was actually a little bit too tall to fit into the turret, and only fit into the hull with some modifications to the driver’s position. Reassuringly, you had two large MGs within reach. The first was a truly unique piece of machinery, a ShKAS

It was a belt fed machinegun that was originally intended for use in aircraft. It’s unique features was a unusual revolving feed system and a fire rate adjustable from the current setting, about 900 rounds per minute up to 1800 by increasing the gas pressure, and removing the additional weights Natalya had fitted to the reciprocating parts of the weapon.

And if that failed, there was also the ever reliable M2 fitted to the back of the turret on a pintle mount. Of course, the point of the IS-3 was the main gun, and not the little ones, that just as well could have been mounted by the sunroof on the Civic. Sadly the cannon had seen many years and hadn’t been well cared of. It didn’t have much ammunition either, since 122x785 mm wasn’t the most popular of calibers.

That was not going to be much of an issue today since the IS-3 was joined by almost three dozen more tanks, and as many cars and auxiliary vehicles carrying personnel, equipment and fuel.

The convoy was a safe way to travel, but also extremely noisy. The combined clattering of tank engines, most not being muffled, and the clattering of tracks made it very hard to communicate

Most normal microphones were very hard to use, so most crews used either very advanced systems with noise cancellation or throat microphones

But at the end of the day, this was just a transport stretch, and it usually ended up with people trying to get as comfortable as possible in the vehicles and getting the little rest they could. Of course, getting any rest inside a moving tank, among other moving tanks is an extremely optimistic idea, and does not really lead to anything
By the time the sun had fallen to just above the horizon the convoy had traveled more than a hundred miles, and had put a little more than half the journey behind it. Come nightfall the tanks were put in a circle to protect anything that needed protecting, like soft skinned trucks and people in the middle. Most of the crews slept on top of the engine cover since it was heated up from the engine that had been running most of the day

This gave the crews something that was at least warm and hard to sleep on, as opposed to the cold, hard ground. But the chilly winter temperatures still necessitated more cover from the cold. Sleeping bags, tents, fires, anything to keep the people warm.

Standard rules didn’t allow any fires, but since everybody needed to stay warm, and exception was made for the night. With increased number of guards, fires were allowed. Small ones at least

Turned out that was a gamble that played out well. The night remained quiet, and so did the rest of the next day. Another few thousands of gallons of diesel later and the convoy arrived at a little larger city. Not it was time for proper maintenance. Perhaps this would be the last time the crews could care for their machines in a garage before the coming impact

The mood had gotten worse since the news of more hostiles. Reports were now reasonably sure this group would land in “Northern USA or western Canada” in about a weeks time. Of course Natalya had a much more accurate estimation

For personal reasons, Natalya wouldn’t actually share this piece of information, since she was very keen on pointing out it was still a guess and nothing else.
Her mood didn’t improve much after not finding any more clues to position or composition of either the private team with the german tanks, presumably with Lily in the front. The force sponsored by the museum was also interesting, since it could have the IS-7 which Natalya really wanted to get her hands on. With a little help she could get rid of the old IS-3 and get that one instead. Probably

Getting transferred to a new tank was not unheard of. It was difficult to do, and very difficult to do properly. It was a risk, but it was a risk that had to be taken.

As a rather uneventful days draws to an end, a man on a mini-bike slowly wobbles into the outskirts of the camp. One of the sentries radioed that in as suspicious movement, since no sane person would be cycling around in the evening, in late january, during wartime.
His clothing was very unusual as well. Stone washed jeans, spiked…. bleached hair, t-shirt with an american flag and the text “Back to back world war champs” on it and a flannel shirt

He didn’t have any luggage apart from what he carried on the bike, which abounted to one bottle of water, one bottle of beer, and two packages of beef jerky. He was also wearing shades.

Natalya actually giggled when she heard it on the radio and immediately asked you to go and help the man. So instead of the abandoned café much of the crew had settled down in, you went out in the chilly night to help a stranger. But this was a war after all

You try not to judge people on sight, but this man looked like a douche in it’s purest form. And then it got worse

‘you the mechanic?’
“Yeah, guess i am. You said you needed help?”
‘Yeah bro, my Mustang is messing with me’

It was almost poetical that he would drive a mustang. He fit the stereotype perfectly

“Your… mustang is broken?”
‘I don’t hope so man, i think there was some strange sound from the engine, and ya know better safe than sorry?’
At least he seemed to have some mechanical sympathy. You tried to read this rather odd man as you walked back to your car, the old Honda. And if he wasn’t strange already, his comment of the car made it even more strange

‘That looks cute!’
“Uhm, sure”
‘What is it?’
“It’s… a Civic”
‘Cool’

The man continues to be a riddle. He appeared like the last person ever to call a small hatchback “cool” or “cute”

“So… what kind of mustang is it anyway? One of the newer ones?”
‘Nah bro, a classic. Like, some of the first years. Few new bits, but she handles like a dream’

Old Mustangs were not exactly known as the best handling cars in the world, but… he did say it was modified

The man stayed silent for most of the ride, giving directions. But he did cause this creeping crawling feeling in your get that something wasn’t quite right

“So… what’s so important about this Mustang that i have to get it going in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. At night?”
‘Big offensive coming up, bro. Lotsa these fuckboys landing soon’
“I’ve never heard anyone call these creatures “fuckboys” before… Point is it’s just a Mustang, not like it is super super important or anything”
‘Come on bro, no need to pull that shit on me. You’re a tank rider anyway, what do you know about speed’
“I know about weapons”
‘And why wouldn’t I?”
“I thought you were a scout or something, with the Mustang?”
‘Come on, she might be an old girl, but she ain’t too old to bring out some pain’

And at exactly that point it dawned on you, that this wasn’t quite what you thought it was. Not only because you understood what he meant, but because said Mustang came into view

“Shit, i thought you meant a Ford, not a damn warbird”
‘Ohh… i thought you seemed a little unenthusiastic’
“Come on, you could have said P-51. Thing is… i can’t really help you much with planes”
‘Just the engine bro, one of those modular things. Think you can give me a hand?’
“In that case, yeah. I’ll see what i can do”

==================

The old warbird seemed to have cooling issues. Not anything faulty in the radiator itself, more something along the water pump.

After starting messing with the piping for the cooling it turned out the whole system was rather clogged up. Might not have been touched in many years, which is strange considering the entire engine was replaced. Residue was taken out of the pump and some of the pipes. It was an all night operation. It would be be just a few hours in a garage… a warm one preferably. But instead you end up with a man who was actually friendly despite looking like he wasn’t.

“You know, i wasn’t actually aware they made petrol versions of the LaMES”
‘Guess the tank rider is lacking perspective’
“So… how much power do you get from this one anyway?”
‘Sea level and full boost, tweny-five hundred”
“Man, diesel gives me half that. Well, little more if we poke it with a stick, but-”
‘Duuuude, you heard about those H-blocks?’
“H-block?”
‘Yeye man, like this is a V-block’
“It’s a V-12, yeah, so-”
‘Yeah, and this is an H-24. Dude, it’s the greatest shit ever. 24 cylinders, 48 liters. It’s like uhm… two flat 12s on top of each other, two crankshafts mated to a single output shaft’
“Sounds… big”
‘Not much bigger than the usual V-12s. And like, the prototypes were out of some complete space age shit, fucker takes 80 psi’
“80 psi of boost pressure? Seriously?”
‘Yeah man, they only made like 3 of these fuckers before realizing it was retarded’
“Well, yeah. I can’t see how piston engines that powerful are useful… know how much power it had by the way?”
‘Nah bro. No one knows. Some say none were tested on a dyno, and one guy claims it ripped the input shaft to shreds at eight thousand. Get that! Fucker might do 5 digits!’
“Ten thousand horsepower? I can hear gearboxes screaming in pain already”
‘Gearboxes are for faggots anyway’

The man takes two steps and pats the large four bladed propeller
“you have one as well, just a single speed”
‘Yeah whatever. Got that hose attached up yet?’
“Just a second…”

You lean over all manner of parts and screw in the last part of a hose clamp for the liquid cooling system. Satisfied with the resistance the screw is giving, you let go and give the hose a light tug, making sure it's properly attached

“Yeah, it's on”

You gently close the polished aluminium engine cover and secure it in place.

“That should be it. Try it out here?”
‘I'm a lil low on fuel, but I'll idle her for a few minutes, see if she leaks or not’

At that point you realise your head is not even 3 feet from the exhaust stack, which would emit an apocalyptic sound when the engine was turned on. The man, who introduced himself an Eric earlier, gestures you to get back to the car. With the cover of a thin piece of glass,the sound of the big engine is muffled somewhat. But it's still ear deafening. The Jagdtiger was loud, sure, but it still had mufflers. The Mustang only had one feet long stubs for exhausts, and they were all breathing fire due to the rich fuel mixture

Eric lets the engine run at idle for a few minutes before shutting it off and getting out. The engine bay was inspected for any leaking fluids and was deemed satisfactory after about half an hour after searching for any faults

He was going to wait for daylight to take off and wanted to wait with the plane until then. You wanted to get at least some sleep and said a quick goodbye before getting back into the little Honda and heading back to the tanks
A long, dark and cold drive later and you arrive at the café where most of the crews had chosen to rest. Natalya had thoughtfully laid out a sleeping bag for you. You sat down heavily down on one of the stools. Your beanie hit the floor in front if you. So did the jacket and the hoodie. Just as you got a grip on your right boot, Natalya’s voice breaks the silence

¤ Getting up already, Anon? I’m impressed
“Wait, no. No no no no no. I just got here. You know, the Mustang? I fixed it”
¤ That’s great! Then we can put the entire war on hold, get a nice bed and huddle up until noon.
“Come on…”
¤ What do you want me to do?

You take a breath to say something, but you couldn’t really ask much of her

“I just wanna sleep”
¤ Actually, you might be able to. Trains will pick vehicles up from here and take them north, closer to the estimated impact zone. But most of them are heavily overloaded, so it’s gonna take a good while to move all tanks. If we’re not on today’s list, there is a good chance you can get some shuteye. But until then, stay up
“Yeah yeah… whatever”

So instead of a somewhat comfortable sleeping bag, that even got reasonably warm after a while, you’re ushered outside to adjust the track tension by crawling through a dirty, muddy track. And then get they stupidly heavy tool Natalya called “durak” and start turning a massive hexagonal bolt. Every few degrees moved the front idler wheel forwards ever so slightly
It was important to have the right tension. A track get slacker over time and is more likely to come off. It was just one of the millions of things that had to be maintained on a tank. It didn’t matter how much you cared for all the other parts, because if you missed just one you could count on it breaking and pissing some kind of (usually expensive) fluid everywhere and ruining at least three more things

Once more the heavy tool is lifted up, against gravity and against the way too heavy bolt. It whines and whimpers, but is eventually moved, just that little bit extra forwards.

Just as you have crawled out from the old tank, Natalya hands you a bowl of… something.

¤ Breakfast
“Thanks”

The something wasn’t too bad. Of course, it was nothing to write home about either. But as long as it looked vaguely like food and kept you on your legs, it was fine.

Natalya once again took her little radio kit and walked off. Probably to find some higher building and see if she could find anything worth listening to. She could spend hours carefully scanning through any open frequency worth listening to. And probably a few not worth listening to as well.

But today was different. Today she wasn't alone up there

¤ I'm happy you could all get here. There is a few things I have to say, and a few things I want to hear. First off, Miranda.
+ Yes?!
¤ You've been playing very dirty, and would probably been severely punished by several people if they knew what you have done. That said, you have done an outstanding job on sucking out information and playing on feelings. Think you can… do what you said you would?
+ Y-yes. No! Wait, I mean… I think I can. I can never be completely sure how people will react. But… it seems to be possible.
¤ Hmpf. You know the weight of this
‘What exactly is this?’
Helen cut in, being rather annoyed not knowing what they Natalya and Miranda were speaking about

¤ You know about the Germans tanks?
‘Plural?’
¤ Yes. We know for sure the Jagdtiger is there. There is also a very big probability that the Elefant is there. Maybe even the Maus.
‘Wh-’
¤ Shush. We are getting reinforcements

Natalya took the stage properly. She explained, she talked. Her tone of voice was nothing short of perfect. It carried authority. It was precise, on point and most of all, probably correct

Helen stood up and confronted her. The brit had had a leading role of the whole group since it was formed. She never had any official authority but people tended to listen. Some didn't even know they had to.

Natalya fired back with more facts. She never claimed to be anyone to listen to, never ordered anything. But she knew I'd she undermined Helen enough, people would change their opinions on who to listen to. Natalya ended up in a very favourable position. She earned the respect of many and the admiration of a few. And from one direction, even something deeper, more sincere.

She didn't stop until 45 minutes later, and the room went completely silent. Just like she wanted, there was no point in asking any questions, from anyone.

She let the room be quiet for quite a while. Enough for the silence to become awkward. And then the punchline.

¤ Unless anyone else has a better idea, of course

Of course no one did, and that left the room in an even heavier silence then before. Natalya had access to a lot of information the other didn’t and she still claimed she could predict rather accurately where they would land

Of course, it was a plan with certain flaws. It took into account how some would react to certain things. The decisions some others would make. And that a last certain someone would screw up.

But it was better than to wait and see.
While this was all going on you were still desperately trying to find a way to sleep in a Civic. Preferably one that didn't involve your knees touching your chin. You had earned sleep. You needed sleep

But throughout the entire day you just got disturbed. Someone needing help with this, something needed fixing that. The infernal noise of tanks that absolutely, positively had to drive around just next to the little car. It rattled the little hatchback until you feared it would topple over.

The stream of trains didn't help much either. Rumbling, smoking, vibrating and godforsaken diesel locomotives. Like an angry swarm of microscopic pterodactyls swarming around you. And that was a weird analogy, even for someone who was sleep deprived.

Sleep didn't come when you tried to seek refuge in one of the other houses in the little “town”. Truth be told it was more like a kiosk and a railway station with a few houses scattered around.

You find a house , lay out what is passable for a bed these days, and then...

18 hours later you wake up. Your head hurts as if it was inside an R-4360 at takeoff power. Your vision is faded. At least the right hand can move and you start moving it towards your face. Goggles? Some kind of helmet as well?

As you helplessly try to crawl around… wherever you happen to be.

There was about three brain cells working in the entirety of your head, and every time two of them met you blinked.

That what was it felt like anyway. Another few minutes pass by and you figure out which way up is

The second thing to figure out was what has happened. More and more brain cells in your hurting head come back to life to help you figure it out.

After an exceedingly long time for such a simple task the realization comes: this is a hangover.
It wasn't one of those light ones you had after a night out with the boys, this was the full on category 5, mach 3, full fat hangover. With extra cheese on the side

This was about the point one would try and remember the last evening. It was mostly a black void at this point. All that could be heard was the endless droning of your poor brain trying to recover from the alcoholic onslaught

There was a few freeze frame memories. You tried to find sleep. Probably a house, some of the ones further away

Then, Natalya. She was unusually high in spirits. With alcohol? Something she usually didn't like too much. Why was she drinking?

You blink heavily a few times, to make sure the eyelids are still attached and working properly. They were. Probably

Jalta? She mentioned Jalta. It was a bid conference at the end of the second world war to discuss what would happen afterwards. Stalin, Churchill and Roosevelt was there. She claimed it was a good day for Anglo-soviet relations and was to be celebrated. Anniversary of Jalta maybe?

That is when the drinking started. No drinking games, not really anything social. Just binge drinking

Caretakers could get wasted, you knew this. There wasn’t any anti-alcohol space magic involved. Lily got shitfaced once. Sure, Natalya was Soviet. But she was still a woman and a rather thin one at that

As more and more brain cells come online, power and motor function (the little you had anyway) went to your arms. You huffed, puffed and after a few minutes of struggling and defying gravity you can now sit on your own.

When a more upright position had been secured, you could avert focus to your eyes instead. They didn’t focus very well, but they did see some kind of room
It didn’t have very much in it. An old chair. Some rather ugly painting on frigid concrete walls. But nothing more than that. It was dark, except a single point in the room that was bright as day. A square of light. After a few minutes, you understand it’s not a TV, but rather the sun shining through a window. After some very slow deduction, you arrive at the conclusion that this was a cellar. A few minutes you thought this was some interrogation, but considering you had been here half an hour and literally nothing had happened, that was this out of the window

Speaking if windows… judging by the moving square of light, it must be noon, or close to noon. Heavy groans and sighs are uttered but you finally stand up and wobble out from the cellar

It probably was around noon, but there was no way of confirming that since the cellphone was dead. Out of battery, broken or had taken a bath? You had no idea

The reasonable next step would be either to get some food water, and new clothes, or find the others

...others?

You heard a faint buzzing, which was something inside your head. Normal noise. But apart from that, there was nothing. No whining of metal tracks, no engines, no voices. Just the wind, which was rather creepy considering this was a town, at midday. There wasn’t even any cars in any of the driveways. But more worryingly, there wasn’t any tanks around either. Not even tank noises. The ground was covered in tank marks, you could even tell what tanks had done certain marks
But your slow stroll through the miniscule town revealed that it was in fact empty

“Guys? Where is everybody? Hello?”

But this wasn’t a game of hide and seek. There was no hidden camera. Because there was no one looking and no one to hold a camera

Left behind, huh?

But, staying true to the fashion of that old, famous commercial, when the man had lost his bet, woman and money, there was one thing left in the world he could rely on.

The hatchback.

When everything else failed a man, a good car was always left there for him. A machine. Something that wasn’t moody, or threw a hissy fit because it didn’t like the way you handled the steering wheel or looked at another car

in the windscreen, under one of the wipers was a note with a word on it. Just one

Sorry
To begin with that was the vaguest thing anyone has ever left on a note, ever. Sorry for what? Who was sorry? Where is everybody?

At least the car door opens, as it should. The car has a phone charger which, and after it’s plugged in for a while, it turned out your phone really wasn’t coming back to life

Which led you to the very interesting question of: What the fuck do i do now?
Helen swirled the amber liquid around in her glass, raised it and sipped a little.

‘Tell me. Without the formalities, without the sugar on top, without the bullshit’

Natalya gently puffed the cigarette smoke through her slightly parted lips and returned her gaze back to Helen

¤ I can’t. Not in a way that would make sense
‘So get me the long version. And explain the goals’
¤ Goals… there is different goals for each person, and each group. We, as humans want to defend our planet. That is the first goal, and we all strive for it. That means we can put aside differences for a while, and point our guns to a single spot
‘Makes sense’
¤ Then there is group goals. RIght now, there are three groups we have to consider. Us, our tank battalion or what you called it. Old guard?
‘Good name for PR’
¤ Yes. Our goal is mostly collect as many powerful machines as possible, and show the world what they are still worth, while achieving humanity’s goal, correct?
‘In an oversimplified way, yes’
¤ Then there is the two “museum squads” The german group, consisting of the Jagdtiger, the Elefant, and maybe the Maus, if they have it operational yet
‘And their goal is?’
¤ As a group… They need money. They are not funded by anyone, meaning the need cameras, videos, the internet and people making donations. Crowdfunding, i believe the term is
‘Correct’
¤ Meaning they need the spotlight. If they were with us, they have the risk of becoming “just another few tanks”
‘Or the biggest tanks in the old guard’
¤ My idea was something along those lines. Anyway, third group consists primarily of two Soviet heavy tanks, the IS-4 and IS-7. They are funded by the museum board that are extremely unhappy with a German machine getting all attention
‘Bunch of butthurt russians…
Helen shifted back a little, realising her mistake
‘I apologize, Natalya. No offence meant’

She scoffed back

¤ I was born in the Soviet union, not Russia. I’ve nothing to do with that country, never even been in it. Besides, i grew up in what would be modern day Ukraine

Natalya tossed the little cigarette butt to the ground and flattened it with her boot

¤ Then, there is personal goals. Take me for an example. The IS-3 is falling apart.
‘Yeah, about that…’
¤ Hence my will to try and unite these groups, maybe fulfilling all group goals
‘That wouldn’t work. Both of these European groups want all glory for themselves’
¤ And they will compete and try outperform each other. Everyone wins. And i benefit because i might get my hands on one of the other beauties

Helen raised an eyebrow

‘Want to attempt a transfer to the other machines?’
¤ I don’t think i have much choice
‘This is interesting. What about me?’
¤ You?
‘My goals. What i want. You are incredibly perceptive, you should be able to guess’
¤ Probably staying as a leader figure for this time. Make the calls, decisions when only a pile of ashes remain of your foes. Sounds about right?
‘About right’
¤ The interesting part is with Anon, our engineering friend
‘He was close with Lily?’
¤ Very. They were very interesting in how they complimented each other. Anon is a very different person with and without her
‘Is that so?’
¤ Yes. I thought it was just lack of a tank or a role at first, but i was mistaken. He becomes less… I’m not sure of the english word for this
‘Try?’
¤ It is like, the power to act. The difference between picking up your rifle, going on a 20 kilometer walk and then attacking a building and waiting in your own house, because “if the enemy bothers to come, i will probably bother to shoot back”
‘Willpower?’
¤ Not exactly, but along those lines. It would also be interesting to see how Nibelung fares with this
‘If she went as far as trying to rely on him to keep the machine working… I mean it is almost an admirable amount of dedication’
¤ It really is

Helen froze for a few seconds, when it finally clicked

‘So, you think…’
¤ I don’t expect you to understand. Using someone else, especially manipulating someone else for personal gain is very bad
‘No no, wait a minute. It’s not just you who benefit from this… if your little speech of goals is to be believed, a lot of people will be glad for it’
¤ What i do worry about, however… Anon can be spiteful. I don’t think he wants to be a pawn in someone else’s game. Might even throw away things he wants to have because he is not happy with how it all unfolded
‘But let's pretend everything works, Anon gets to Lily, they get back together, and then bring the German squad to us, forcing the Russians to join as well-’
¤ They risk being antagonised otherwise
‘And then you can get a bigger IS?’
¤ Yes. The IS-4 isn't much different from the IS-3, but the IS-7, on the other hand…
‘It's a monster…’

Helen sighs. Almost in defeat

‘Gun, armor, engine… lots of people in the battalion were very happy when the red army decided not to have it’
¤ Really?

Natalya seemed genuinely surprised. And then suspicious

¤ How did you find out it even existed…

Helen smirked and poured herself another
‘American steel, British intelligence and Soviet blood wins the war’
¤ I get my hands on the IS-
‘Is hope you get a name for it. IS-7 is a lame designation for a machine of that caliber’
¤ Whatever. Point is, with that machine I won't have to bleed. None of us does
‘Unless there is a caretaker assigned to it already’
¤ Highly doubt there was one. Or she lives. Kubinka can be…
‘I understand. But at least she got better treatment than what the poor soul in the Maus got’
¤ Interesting. I never heard anything about the Maus having one. You know anything about it?
‘I do not. I just assumed, since it is very large and German’
¤ RIght

Helen swallowed and took a heavy breath

‘As much as it pains me to do… Natalya, please be honest with me. You have pretty much figured out where they are going to land?’
¤ I’ve made a rough estimate
‘Phah. I know your “rough estimations”. Just, please, give me something to toy with and i’ll do what i can to get you a new tank. Please’
¤ Don’t ever say please again. It really doesn’t suit you.
‘So help me’
¤ I give you a place, and you will give me a tank
‘And if i fail you, may you have the Conqueror instead
¤ I hope i never have to hold you to that

Helen poured two glasses, took one for herself and slid the second one over to Natalya

‘Something for me to work with, something for you to play with, what a trade’
¤ You asked for it. Now, let’s get down to business. Five weeks ago…
Natalya sat there for almost an hour explaining how she figured it out. Looking at recent patterns, where the creatures were opposed, when they got slaughtered. How they tested the defences. Natalya knew where they have had the biggest succes. Plain open grounds. Where there was nothing to take cover behind. Everything the humans fought with needed cover. A man will not fight where there is no cover, because he will die. And since the first wave of these creatures turned armor irrelevant. They were going to land in the biggest open space they could find

¤ ...take all of that into account, and i’m pretty sure they will land… here

Natalya made a little dot on a printed map (probably taken directly from google maps), before switching to a much more zoomed in version, and drew a big circle on it

¤ Bare in mind none of this information i got is classified, even if some of it is hard to get your hands on. I can not guarantee that no one else have figured this out either
‘Natalya, you so-’
¤ And before you say something insulting of my mother, she was a very nice woman. And she made lovely bread

The soviet smirked a little, something very unusual for her

‘Truly does look like i owe you a tank’
¤ But before you make any decisions, remember there are two more groups unaccounted for. The US army, who should have their first batch of their new steel tanks ready
‘The army? They have never muddles with our business before
¤ And they might keep doing that. No use putting all eggs in one basket
‘With the risk of sounding old fashioned, if the Old Guard is there, and we manage to stop a wave like this on our own-’

Helen trailed off a little
¤ Yes. Exactly
‘...anyway. This fifth group you were talking about?’
¤ Yes. The wildcard.

Natalya narrowed her icy eyes and started explaining

At about that time, well after the sun went down a few hundred miles further south, you more and more started figuring out that you were not left behind as a mistake. No one said where they were heading, left notes.

But they did leave two jerry cans by the old hatchback

While being left behind, again, was unfortunate, it did leave you with an opportunity for relocation. At a closer thought, four options. Mostly because it was the four numbers you knew from the top of your head

First of, try find the Old guard. Because of the internet and the reputation that had built up.
Second alternative was finding the old depot of machines, lead by Wendy and the MBT-70. The would probably have resources and the personnel of the training programs. You would probably just be seen as another face there, for for good or bad.
Third option is Jake Benson. The guy was ancient, but probably had a lot of contacts in funny places. But once again, he wouldn’t care much about you. He would also start a witch hunt for Lily

Speaking of Lily, she was probably the fourth option. Quite how that would work, you had no idea. Just call her and go “eyo, long time no see” isn’t really an option.

But first of all, you had to get to some bigger town

Faithful to Japanese shitbox tradition, the little car purrs to life at the turn of a key. No arguing, no riding the starter motor, just that dull, 4 cylinder droning.

The roads were mostly empty, few people wanted to be this far west. And soon you could see why.

A lone class 3 creature blocked the road up.

Four legs, armored and awful. The legs itself pointed outwards from the body, like a lizard rather than a dog or similar.
It had its “guns” near the head, and could shoot rays of… something you wasn't really sure what it was in an about a 90 degree arc forwards. Luckily, it was looking another way.

None of the weapons you had the car could hurt it from a comfortable distance. Technically the old AK could hurt it in very specific places like eyes and what it had for nostrils. The two hand grenades would also hurt it, but probably not kill it. Not in a safe way at least.

Sadly, the creature seemed rather confused, just standing in the middle of the road and not really moving. It was also big, far too big to be driven around. And going off the road was not an option, the car was somewhat lowered and had fat, flat and sticky tires. Good for dry tarmac, but not for much else

The other option was to stay. It was still early February, so the car provided some warmth and shelter for the howling wind. A time to think, while you watched the foul beast stumble around, half a mile forwards

Going back to Natalya would be the easiest option. Required very little effort besides just catching up. Low effort

Jake Benson was probably a non-option. Too high of an effort, and would probably not really give anything back.

The Depot with the hordes of abandoned Pattons and Sheridans might be the best option. You could keep doing something you was actually good at. Someone would surely recognise you. Wendy would definitely do it. She was still very scared of Lily. But you? Not sure. But acquiring command of the prototype would probably not be impossible. That would be quite a machine. Maybe even having those nuclear shells

Finally, you could also put some real effort into things and try-


And just like that, the creature seemed to have found something to do, other than being a roadblock. It slowly walked off, and not a moment too soon; the car had become noticeably colder. But the engine warmed you, and with the move of the gearstick, powered you along.
Many hours, many miles, and many gallons of fuel later you wobble out of the car and into what is acceptable as a motel nowadays. As long as it had some sort of food, or even “food” and something that wasn’t a stone floor

But first, a glass of something soothing

The men behind the bar looked just as tired as you probably did. He just answered you order with a cold nod and a glass a moment later. And it was soothing. You stared into the rows and rows of half filled bottles with empty eyes. You had decisions you had to make, but you didn't want to think

Too tired, too worn.

The murmur from the other patrons was soothing. That was the word. Soothing

A heavy exhale. But not a nice one. More distant murmur, more chatter. And then a man slides up and lands on the seat next to you

‘Excuse me man, have a phone i can borrow. Mine’s out and-’
“Yeah, sure just sit here and… wait, shit. Mine gave up yesterday”

You hold it up in front of him, clicking the power button a few times to show the phone is dead

‘Ah, yours is out as well?’
“Yeah. just ask the bar, they ought to have a working one”
‘Right’

The man slides away, but just a few inches

‘Wait a second, aren’t you from that tank battalion or whatever’
“Oh, yeah. Suppose i am”
‘Not much tanks going around here though, are there?’
“I could say i’m… out and scouting”
‘Yeah, i heard everyone is moving north west’
“That’s interesting. Where to?”
‘Utah, i think’
“That’s a long fucking drive”
‘You didn’t know?’
“W-well, not really they would give me a new place. On the move, you know”
‘Well, if you’re looking for tank stuff, supplies or whatever, i think there is a place like… hundred and something miles west’
And so, the next morning you set off. A new open road, even if it looked the same as all of the others. Same hatchback, same AK in the passenger's seat where another person should really sit. The same weary 4 cylinder buzzing going on and on forever

Strangely, after two hours of driving, the place… looked rather disappointing. It had one M8 armored car, way, way beyond working condition

In other words, it was a complete waste of time. Why did you even go here? You sigh heavily and turn back to the car, only to see two figures standing next to it. Between you and your means to get out of here

The two figures were a tall woman, properly tall, probably approaching 6 feet and a child standing next to her.

If Lily’s uniform looked somewhat german, this woman's attire looked very german, almost enough to be a satire

Wehrmacht uniform, long coat, black boots and that cap. And sadly, a handgun. You had one as well, but hers was much easier to reach. And to make it worse, she shoved the child in front of her

‘Good day’ The child began
“Hi. Mom and you out for a picnic?”
‘She’s not my mother. I am her translator’
“Not native english, huh? Who’s have thought”
‘The lady is German’
“Wow, thanks for that info”
‘First of all, i must confirm your identity’
“Anon”
‘Just that?’
“All i am willing to tell you now. What do you want?”
‘We only want to talk’
“Of course. Now, you knew how i was for some reason, who don’t you tell me why you guys are”

‘I am Hugo’

The child bows a little and lifting his hat. Very polite

‘And this is Hauptsturmführer Irma Nibelung’

She spoke. Something in german. She sounded hoarse. If that was the language or the voice, you were not sure

‘She says your reaction confirms your identity’
“I suppose it does. I’ve heard that is a very rare last name. And because you’re not the one i recognize, you’re the other she told me about”
=======