LIGHTNOVELONLINE Prologue: The Red Musket
Somewhere in Eastern Europe…
The sky bled grey into the fog-choked streets, only the skeletal of buildings in brinks of collapse and shattered windows, blurring the war-torn city into a spectral smudge. Four M1A3 Abrams behemoths rumbled through the desolation, led by a lone red demon - the Red Musket. Its full crimson gun barrel, turret, and hull, painted black, green, and red, dazzled and slashed with black stripes, stood out like a defiant fist against the monochrome landscape.
Gunfire echoes in the background, but tank threads churn loudly into yet an eerie ghost town, making the sound of a steel monster marching to its prey.
Captain Gritz "Tiger" Wittmann is a man carved from the fires of war, his weathered face etched with the scars of countless battles. His eyes, a steely blue beneath a thicket of grizzled brows, hold the unwavering gaze of a predator, ever scanning the horizon with his 50 cal. Machine gun for the next threat.
Even amidst the deafening chaos of the battlefield, his presence commands respect, a silent authority radiating from his broad shoulders and the calloused hands that grip the controls of the Red Musket.
His nickname, "Tiger," is no mere moniker. It reflects the ferocity he fights, the cunning he employs to outmanoeuvre his enemies, and the unwavering loyalty he inspires in his crew. When Tiger roars an order, it cracks like a whip across the battlefield, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. And yet, beneath the outward gruffness, there resides a flicker of compassion, a deep-seated sense of responsibility for the lives entrusted to him. He is a leader who leads from the front, a shield against the storm, and a man who would gladly give his own life to those he swore to protect.
"Eyes peeled, boys," Tiger's gruff voice crackled over the radio, laced with the thrill of unleashing these beasts. We don't have the infantry accompanying us today, so stay vigilant. These beauties were bought with sweat and steel, not to be scrapped in some alley. Four months of blood and mud to earn them—don't waste it!"
"Roger that." Radio back by following tanks.
Forward beneath Captain Gritz, Sergeant Reznov, also known as "Archer," the marksman of Red Musket, pushed his glasses up his nose like your typical genius. His young face, usually lit by a mischievous grin, was now a mask of steely focus as he peered through the advanced thermal scope.
"Yeah, this shit is old, but it's just too good and expensive to be destroyed." Archer's proficiency as a gunner is legendary. He possessed an innate ability to transform a tank into a precision weapon, capable of striking targets from extraordinary distances with pinpoint accuracy. Even without thermal imagery or computer assistance, Archer's shots were remarkably precise. Archer also scans the surroundings using his newly highly advanced thermal viewer scope. "But man, this bad boy is a big deal? Compared to our last T72 and T90, this thing is monstrous in size, but…” He moved his body to sense any remaining space for him. "Urgghh… we're like sardines in here!"
A man with a deep voice chuckled, "Haha, Hell, I am still surprised that I actually fit in." That is Private Arlando "Armstrong" Sherman, the gun loader. He was located on the left side of Archer, and the main gun was between them. You may mistake him as a typical thug because of his heavily muscular physique, which is covered with various tattoos. He was once a thug or gangster, but when the war broke out, he changed himself for the better and became a soft, kind-hearted man. He has tanned skin and bald hair. Sporting a sleeveless tanker uniform to make room for his massive arms.
With his body, he's truly fitting as a gun loader. M1 Abrams are manual loading machines, and he is the new member of the Red Musket since their former tanks are automatic loading and require only 3 crew.
The lead tank, Red Musket, abruptly halted amidst their advance. Captain Tiger grabbed his radio, issuing a crisp command, "All tanks, halt." The following tanks responded instantly, grinding to a standstill.
Tiger addressed his driver through the intercom, "Do you also sense that, Scarface?" Tiger suspected Scarface had already picked up on the anomaly, prompting him to stop the tank even before the order was given.
"Yeah..." came the reply from Scarface, the M1 Abrams driver. Scarface, whose real name is Ivan, shares Tiger's uncanny sixth sense. He was called "Scarface" because of the noticeable scar on his face that runs from his eyes to his cheeks. Fortunately, his right eye, where his scar is, is still functional.
"All right, you know the plan," Tiger stated.
"Roger that," Scarface acknowledged.
Tiger turned his attention to Archer, the tank's gunner. "Archer, you got visuals on 'em?"
"They're on my sight now," Archer confirmed. "Those runts think they can ambush us on those buildings."
"Well, let's give 'em hell!" Armstrong declared.
Cpt Tiger radioed the other tanks, "To all tanks, proceed to location Foxtrot. Our man urgently needs your help. Take the street echo instead and rush forward. The enemy has already set up ambushes for us in street whiskey. Still, proceed with caution; they might set up ambushes in other areas. Report any sightings of enemy armour and engage if necessary, but our priority is to save our pinned-down soldier."
"Tell that to you, Red Musket," the Other tank commander jokingly said. "We'll be just fine, Hornet," Cpt Tiger reassured.
"If you say so, Red Musket, we'll be on our way now. Take care. Hornet over and out." The three other tanks headed to Foxtrot, east of the city.
Through his thermal monitor, Tiger vividly sees figures of humans highlighted with light green, indicating their thermals. He observes that they are restless and seemingly preparing to attack. They were hiding on the second floor of an apartment, and then he saw one of the enemies grab something from the ground, put it on his shoulder, and carry it. It must be some kind of anti-tank rocket or missile.
"Load HEAT and fire on my command." Tiger's firm command
Armstrong slid the ammunition rack blast door open and grabbed a round of M830A1 High Explosive Anti Tank. M830A1 is a behemoth of a bullet, standing about as tall as a small child at 3.6 feet (1.1 meters) long. Imagine a thick soda can, 4.7 inches (120 millimeters) wide, stretched to that height. Its olive green body packs a powerful high-explosive punch designed to crack open heavily armoured tanks. The round weighs 25kg, but it's only a feather for Armstrong. He loaded the gun and shouted, "Up," to indicate the gun's readiness to unleash its rage of explosion.
"Scarface, 1/3 ahead," Tiger commanded, his voice steady amidst the tension.
"Roger," Ivan responded, his grip tightening on the throttle. A twist of his wrist sent a surge of power through the M1 Abrams' formidable engine. The tank lurched forward, its treads grinding against the rubble-strewn city square.
Ivan surveyed the battlefield through the viewports, his eyes scanning the fog-shrouded landscape for any movement. The enemy lay hidden, their presence a palpable weight in the eerie silence that hung over the square. Yet, Ivan remained unfazed, his senses honed from years of hunting in the dense forests of his homeland.
Inside the tank, the crew braced themselves for the impending clash. Tiger manned the 50.cal M2 Browning machine gun. Archer, the gunner, poised over the fire control, waited for the signal to unleash the tank's devastating arsenal. Armstrong, the loader, stood ready, his muscles primed for the rapid reloading of high-explosive rounds.
Tension reached a fever pitch as the Red Musket inched closer to the enemy's concealed positions. The silence was a suffocating blanket, punctuated only by the rumbling of the tank's engine and the crew's measured breaths. Tiger inhaled deeply, steadying his inhale; his eyes narrowed, and his senses heightened.
Finally, Cpt Tiger shouts, "Fire!"
"On the way!"
The command unleashed a thunderous roar as the Red Musket's 120mm smoothbore cannon unleashed its devastating firepower. A high-explosive round hurtled through the air, slamming into the enemy's makeshift fortification with a deafening blast. Inside the tank, gun recoil pushed back so hard that it could fatally injure a crew if it was in the line of its recoil.
The impact was instantaneous, a violent eruption of shrapnel and debris that sent mangled bodies flying through the crimson-stained air. Tiger emerged from the tank's turret, his 50 cal machine gun spitting a relentless barrage into the chaos below. "Squirt at them, Archer!"
"Yes, sir!!" Archer joined Tiger by firing the 7.62 coaxial machine gun.
Suddenly, the tank lurched backwards, its treads churning the ground as it narrowly avoided an incoming RPG. A trail of smoke marked the projectile's path, revealing the enemy's position. "Canister round on the same target!!" Tiger shouted. Archer's eyes glued to the thermal imaging display, the enemy's heat signature glowing bright against the cool backdrop. "Target Identified!"
Since the HEAT round had obliterated the enemy's cover, Tiger decided to use the Canister round or the M1028. Just imagine a shotgun shell but for the tank. That round contains thousands of tungsten balls and is spread into a fan-shaped area. It's highly effective against infantry.
"Canister Up!" — Armstrong
"Fire!" — Tiger
"On the way!" Archer shouts; the 120 mm gun roars again and hits the target building. The enemy soldiers' screams of agony can be heard as they are obliterated by the spread of balls. Tiger continues suppressing the enemy fire, but the enemy is still far from defeated.
The enemy unleashed a hail of gunfire upon the Red Musket, bullets ricocheting off its armoured hull. Recognizing the imminent danger, the Tiger quickly retreated into the tank's interior, his voice barking orders through the intercom. "Let's get the hell out of here before they overrun us!"
Red musket surged forward with relentless momentum. Inside the driver's hatch, Ivan, the tank's heart and soul, was a symphony of controlled movement, manoeuvring the massive machine. As enemy fire rained down upon them, Ivan's senses extended beyond the confines of his position. It was as if he and the Red Musket had merged into a single entity, a fusion of man and machine that granted him an instinctive awareness of his surroundings. With an almost preternatural ability, Ivan could anticipate the trajectory of incoming projectiles, his hands guiding the tank in a ballet of evasion.
"Hey, Scarface, take it easy, man," Archer quipped, his voice laced with playful humor. "Don't want us to have another broken track, do we?"
Armstrong, ever eager for action, said, "If that happens, we'll just have to fight them head-on! It's been four months since I joined the Tankers, and my fists are itching for real action. I wanna beat punks harder than our 120!"
Their commander, Tiger, joined the banter, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm, "That's right, son, I bet you'd love to try that in front of a T90."
Laughter rippled through the crew, a warm and comforting sound amidst the din of battle. Though separated from his comrades by the tank's layout, Ivan felt the joy radiating from their voices. A smile tugged at his lips as he expertly maneuvered the tank, their shared laughter echoing in his heart.
For Ivan, this camaraderie was more than just a distraction from the perils of war; it was a new hope, a reason to move forward. After losing his family in the early stages of the war, his loved ones and the peaceful farm life he had were just burned down by the unstoppable marches of war.
"Continue to location: FoxtrotFoxtrot. We don't wanna miss any battle." With that, Cpt Tiger grabbed the radio. "This is the Red Musket; what's your situation there? Over."
"This is Warpig! We're only a kilometer from Foxtrot but taking heavy enemy fire!" The voice, laced with adrenaline, painted a vivid picture of the intense battle raging ahead. "They're flanking us and our boys at FoxtrotFoxtrot! We need immediate assistance!"
"How many enemies are you facing right now? Cpt Ask.
"IT'S AN ARMORED DIVISION!" — Warpig
The crew of Red Musket gazed at each other. "4 to 100," Cpt Tiger Pondered. "Bonus round, isn't it?" Archer said, "What do you think, Armstrong?" Cpt Tiger asked him. Armstrong punched his fist. "I don't know how dangerous it'd be; let's just punch through their armor!" Then, the rest of the crew waits for Scarface's response.
Ivan closed his eyes inside the driver compartment and heard the crew say, "You probably want to use your seatbelt now."
With that, the crew resolved their resolution, "That's what I want to hear!" Then the commander used the radio again, "Tell me their location."
"Eastern edge of the city park, coordinates 40.747535, -73.984105. There's a column of T70's and T90's there." — Warpig.
"Copy that, Warpig. Retreat for a while! Don't you dare lose any of our tanks! We only have a few of 'em! ETA 3 minutes. Hold out for a while."
"Copy that, Red Musket." — Warpig
Ivan's hands firmly gripped the controls, twisting the throttle, unleashing the raw power of the 70-ton steel behemoth. The Red Musket surged forward, its tracks chewing through the war-torn streets, its impressive speed of 69 kph defying the limitations of its imposing size.
"We'll deal with those enemy infantry later," Captain Tiger declared," Right now, we've got a party to crash."
Mirroring the enemy's flanking maneuver, the Red Musket veered off the city's main road, heading northeast from the city square. Their destination: the city park, an open field perfect for shooting.
The distance between the Red Musket and their comrades, the Warpig, is approximately 5 kilometers. At their current speed, they could reach the park in roughly four minutes, but the terrain was far from ideal. Rubble from collapsed buildings littered the path, threatening to impede their progress.
However, the Red Musket crew was prepared for such obstacles. They deployed a reconnaissance drone, its aerial view clearly showing the terrain ahead. With Ivan's impeccable tank-driving skills, they navigated the treacherous landscape precisely.
They're only 3 km from the destination, but they've already spotted the target. It's confirmed—a column of T72s and T80s tanks heading to the Foxtrot and Warpig locations.
"Time to start hunting." Cpt proclaimed. "Contact 3000 meters ahead 13 T80's lined up. Load sabot and aim at the lead tank."
Archer aimed the main gun. "Identified!"
Armstrong opened the ammunition rack and grabbed the APFSDS round or Armour-piercing fin-stabilized discarding sabot. It is a special ammunition that uses a sabot or an arrow like tungsten metal or even depleted uranium, capable of penetrating thick armor at high velocity with deadly precision.
"Up!" Armstrong shouted after loading the round, "Fire."
"On the way!" Archer pulled the trigger.
The 120mm gun roared again, and the sabot round hit the lead tank, penetrating its armor like butter. Then, the thunderous bang could be heard.
"Sabot at the second tank!!" — Tiger.
The column tank quickly scattered to face the imminent danger.
"Now aim at that tank—" the Red Musket charges at full speed while firing at the enemy. Within a minute, the Red Musket transforms the enemy column into a burning graveyard of steel. Six T72 tanks lay in ruins. The remaining enemy tanks halt their advance by the sudden onslaught and scramble to regroup. Panic-stricken, they attempt to retreat while firing erratically at the Red Musket, their shots falling wide of the mark.
M1A3 of the Redmusket charged forward while firing; when they reached their destinations, all of the 13 tanks were nothing but a piece of scrap now. But there are still more of them.
"This is the Red Musket; we have finally arrived at the destination just two clicks from your position; how's our man in there? Over." — Tiger
"Red Musket, This is Warpig! We are now defending the Hotel Suez. We're buying time for our men to retreat. Over."
"How many armor?" Cpt Tiger inquired.
"There's at least 20 of them attacking us right now!" Through the radio, they can hear the sounds of gunshots and bullets whistling around.
"Engage the enemy and draw their attention. We'll flank them and attack from the side." — Tiger.
"Solid copy, Red Musket. Engaging Targets!" — Warpig
Hotel Suez stands isolated amidst a vast open field, its strategic importance drawing the enemy's attention. Three M1A3 tanks, positioned around the hotel, form a defensive perimeter, their crews determined to protect the stronghold.
From the north, the enemy forces surge forward like Banzai charge, their numbers and firepower posing a significant threat to Hotel Suez's defenders. Red Musket, recognizing the vulnerability of the enemy's left flank, devises a bold plan to strike from an unexpected angle and charge them. The element of surprise is their greatest weapon, and the timing of their attack is crucial.
Black Powder Squadron started their attack. Three Abrams tanks fired at the charging enemy, and now the Red Musket finally started the attacking party. The attacking enemy consisted of some T72S and some APCs. Red Musket fired APFSDS rounds at its overpen, two aligned BMPs, destroying both of them. Cpt Tiger was on top of the turret firing its 50 Cal, and Archer was also firing the 7.62mm coaxial machine gun at the infantry.
Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, the Black Powder Squadron stands triumphant, having decimated the enemy's armored forces. Armstrong joins the fray with only enemy infantry remaining, expertly wielding his M249 Saw machine gun. At the same time, Scarface manoeuvres the tank to provide optimal firing positions for his comrades.
After twenty intense minutes, the enemy retreated. A temporary ceasefire descended, and the Black Powder Squadron, recognizing their numerical disadvantage, decided to withdraw. However, as Hornet retreats, disaster strikes – a landmine immobilizes the tank.
"Arghhh! We step on shit!" The Hornet's Captain bellowed. However, the timing turned treacherous when Tiger spotted something flying in the air. It's a white tube-like object with wings or fins on it. It looks like a cruise missile but is slow because it only uses a propeller. And that object is currently nose-diving toward Hornet's M1 Abrams tank. It's a loitering munition, also known as a kamikaze drone. It uses a heat signature to find its target and can penetrate the top part of a tank because that's the least protected part of any tank.
"Hornet! Bail out! Bail out! Drone incoming!" then Cpt Tiger, recognizing the imminent threat, swiftly takes up his position at the 50 caliber gun. Archer questions his Captain's intentions with a mix of humour and concern. "Hey! You're going to shoot it with that thing? Can you hit it?" Cpt Tiger is unfazed, but then he orders Archer. "It's probably impossible for me, but I guess you can. Take this gun now, soldier!"
Tiger quickly climbed up to the tank's turret to let Archer use the machine gun, and as Tiger did that, Archer also swiftly manned the gun.
Armstrong, not to be outdone, joins the challenge, manning his gun and proposing a competition to see who can shoot down the drone first. Archer accepts, and the two engage in a race against time, their red tracer rounds streaking through the air. On the other hand, Hornet's crew finally made it out of the tank.
Amidst the flurry of gunfire, one bullet strikes the drone's wing, sending it into an uncontrollable spiral. The drone crashes to the ground, exploding in a fiery burst. Archer is caught up in the excitement, and Tiger inquires about the victor, but Armstrong simply shrugs off. "It's clear that this brat beat me."
Tiger quickly ran toward Hornet to assess the situation.
"Thank you, Tiger. We owe you that one." Hornet's Captain gave thanks.
"How bad have you been hit?"
"Two of our road wheels on the left are completely shattered, the track is already loose, and one of our suspension fluids is leaking."
"How much time do you need for repair?"
"The best we can do is 3 hours".
"Captain, they are coming." A deadpan and neutral voice came into Tiger's radio. It was from Scarface. It clearly indicated that they must leave now.
Captain Tiger pondered; he knew they must retreat now, but he couldn't abandon the tank. Not only do they lose a precious war machine, but it may also inflict morale damage since the tank has a reputation, and this would be the first operation they fielded. Their sponsors expect good results from them. He desperately seeks a solution to the seemingly impossible task of recovering the abandoned Abrams tank. Then suddenly, a peculiar smile spread across his face, drawing curious glances from his crew.
"Oh hell no, that damn smile… I don't like where this is going," Archer groaned, sensing the Captain's brewing audacity.
"Make it 30 minutes."
"What?"
"I said we need to get moving in 30 minutes. I don't care if you use a car wheel or a goddamn tow truck that can carry 70 tons of war machine. Best if you just repair it; as long as we can get the hell out here with your tank, I don't care what you do. Just 30 minutes, and we're out."
"That's…impossible-"
"It's your job to do my command. Now, give me some of your rounds." Tiger ran back to his tank.
The Hornet captain can't retort anymore, and Tiger calls for Armstrong. Armstrong, ever the thrill-seeker, couldn't contain his eagerness. "So, we're really gonna go for it, huh, arrogant as ever. I love it!"
Scarface, the voice of reason, sighed in resignation, already anticipating the wild scheme that was about to unfold.
Captain Tiger, feigning innocence, exclaimed, "Wait! You don't know what I'm thinking, right?"
"You know that we know," Archer retorted with another sigh. "Just give the order to the Black Powder Squadron and ask the infantry how many can still fight. You don't just want to reclaim that Abrams; you want to reclaim the whole city, don't you?"
"You're goddamn right, son. Now give me a map".
Half an hour later...
"T90 at 4 o'clock, we're in its line of fire! Scarface, quick evasive maneuver!"
With hands gripping the steering controls, Ivan reacted with lightning speed, wrenching the tank into a hard left turn, its treads churning up the earth beneath. The T90's 125mm gun roared, its menacing projectile slicing through the air like a harbinger of doom. Inside the Red Musket, a deafening hiss echoed as the enemy's sabot round narrowly missed the turret.
"Gunner, sabot, tank! Traverse left", Cpt Tiger instructed,
"Identified!" Archer announced, his eyes glued to the fire control, a predator locking onto its prey.
"Steady" — Tiger
Armstrong, the tank's loader, moved with practiced efficiency, his muscles rippling as he grabbed an APFSDS round from the ammunition rack. With a swift, practised motion, he inserted the round into the breach of the 120mm smoothbore cannon. "Sabot up!" he declared, signalling the gun's readiness.
"Fire!" Cpt Tiger's command echoed through the tank, a prelude to the thunderous roar of the Abrams' main gun.
The sabot round, a spear of destruction, streaked through the air, its trajectory a deadly promise. It slammed into the T90's heavily armored turret with pinpoint accuracy. The enemy tank fell silent, its offensive capabilities reduced to a smouldering ruin.
"Tank struck!" The Tiger's voice held a hint of grim satisfaction, a testament to its lethal precision.
Relief, however, was a fleeting luxury on the battlefield. "T80 at 1 o'clock, distance 800 meters! It's on the other side of that building. Load a sabot round again, and let's see if we can shoot through the building," Cpt Tiger's voice cut through the momentary respite.
"On!" Archer's response was immediate.
Armstrong ejected the used shell in a whirlwind of efficiency and inserted a fresh round into the cannon. "Up!" he announced.
The Red Musket's turret swivelled, its aim unwavering. It targeted the T80 through the skeletal remains of the building that stood as a flimsy barricade.
"Fire!" Cpt Tiger's command unleashed pent-up energy.
The sabot round tore through the air, its path undeterred by the shattered windows of the intervening building. It slammed into the T80's hull with a resounding crack, piercing the armour and wreaking havoc.
Suddenly, Captain Tiger clicked his tongue. "Two enemies are approaching on both sides: 72 at 2 o'clock, 90 meters, and 90 at 8 o'clock, 50 meters. They're looking at us."
Archer let out a predatory grin. "Those bastards keep on coming, huh? I guess we need to do that."
"Never thought that we were gonna do it again too soon." Armstrong opened the ammunition rack, grabbed another Sabot round, and carried it. Then he giggled nervously, "Well, bring it on!"
"Scarface, we're gonna do Duoblitz. Target at 8 o'clock, turret at 1 o'clock." Tiger ordered Ivan, followed by an immediate response from Ivan: "Roger!"
Developed by Red Musket after acquiring the M1 Abrams tanks, DuoBlitz is a tactic demanding exceedingly precise coordination among the crew. It comes into play when confronted with two enemy tanks approaching simultaneously, necessitating their elimination in rapid succession.
The gunner locks onto the first target, ensuring a precise shot. Concurrently, the commander focuses on the second tank, ready to engage immediately after the gunner's attack. To facilitate this swift targeting, the driver skillfully rotates the tank itself. However, the M1 Abrams turret can do full rotation within 9 seconds; this manoeuvre could reduce it. On the battlefield, every second matters. While the tank boasts a sophisticated gun stabilization system, the gun still remains on target even if the tank is rotating.
Red Musket deactivates it in favour of the unmatched precision of manual aiming. The loader must reload the gun within a critical two-second window, ensuring the seamless execution of the DuoBlitz maneuver.
Tiger informed Ivan where the target and the turret training position were so he could calculate precisely how much turn the tank needed.
Immediate tension arose inside the tank. Archer's eyes were glued to the first target; his hands were already sweaty while holding the gun trigger, and his foot couldn't stop fidgeting and tapping the floor. Armstrong was also already sweating, and it was visible on his face. He was tense while waiting and preparing for a quick reload.
Tiger remained fixated on his commander's screen while Ivan prepared for a swift turn. Red Musket was exposed in the open field, vulnerable to enemy detection through thermal imaging. Finally, the awaited order came, "Fire!" Tiger barked in a calm, calculated voice.
Archer responded with a steady pull of the trigger. The battlefield echoed with the loud thump of the tank's cannon, followed by a flurry of activity from Tiger, Armstrong, and Scarface. Without waiting for confirmation of the first shot's impact, they seamlessly transitioned to the next target. They just put trust in Archer's skill and a calculated gamble on his success. In a fraction of a second, Ivan initiated the tank's rotation, followed closely by the turret's swift movement. Armstrong, unfazed by the frantic pace, maintained his balance while reloading the tank with lightning speed. As soon as Tiger saw the second target, he fired without hesitation. Another deafening boom reverberated across the battlefield, followed by the satisfying silence of two simultaneous explosions. Both were a hit.
Armstrong's eyes glued at the tablet from their reconnaissance aerial drone confirmed the hit. "Target neutralized," he declared, but there is still was no celebration inside the tank.
"All right, cease fire! Cease fire!" Tiger said
The ruined city is filled with burning metal, perfect for a blacksmith's workshop. And for the Red Musket, they know that that number will just pile up. "Cpt Tiger gravely announced, "Column of seven T80 tanks at 11 o'clock, a distance of 1000 meters."
"C'mon, give us a break, will ya!" Archer rant.
Ivan glanced at the tank's fuel gauge, which was already low. Even though he didn't announce it, he knew that the crew knew they were already low, not only on fuel but also on ammunition.
Armstrong slammed the ammunition door seal. "Damn it!" Within 30 minutes of intense non-stop fighting, Red Musket had depleted its 50 rounds.
"That's it, boys. We're done here. Let's go back and hope that the Hornet's already operational.
Let's retreat for now," Cpt Tiger comfortably and calmly said.
Ivan rotates the tank and heads south, where they can meet up with the rest of the Black Powder squadron and the 16th infantry division. After rotating the tank, Ivan twists the throttle downward, and the tank is in full-speed retreat.
Just as they were rolling, Cpt suddenly stood up to his hatch and furiously looked up in the sky. He saw something out of grey sky silhouetting a figure that looks like a dot. Another kamikaze drone was heading toward them, and it was not only one; it was three drones locked and pursuing them because of the heat signature coming from the tank engine's full throttle.
Cpt Tiger clicked his tongue, "Archer, drone incoming, switch up with me!"
Tiger decides that because he knows how precise Archer's marksmanship is, just as he had demonstrated before. He even joked with Archer before calling him phalanx, not a spartan formation phalanx but the CIWS one or the Close-In Weapon System Phalanx. It's a machine that uses a Gatling gun to intercept incoming threats like missiles by shooting at them and detonating them before they even hit what it is defending.
"Fucking hell! Those suicidal drones again, huh?" To his left side, Archer grabs his sniper rifle.
"Hey, you sure will use that thing against that drone?" Armstrong mockingly asked.
"Why not? I can hit and shoot it down with one bullet."
"Heh! This brat is cocky as ever. Well then, this time, I won't lose!"
Armstrong also arose from his hatch and dismounted the SAW machine gun so he could aim it freely.
Tiger and Archer finally switched positions, and the Captain now controls the gunner position. He is using a thermal sight to look for the enemy, and Sgt Scarface is just driving the tank. Both of them placed their faith in Archer and Armstrong.
Both Sgt Archer and Pvt Armstrong aimed their guns at the first upcoming drone. The first drone is at 500 meters. From that distance, the drone is still like a small dot in the sky. But because of their excellent marksmanship, they could somehow hit the wings and avert it from its trajectory. However, the second drone is already at 200 meters and rapidly descending to Red Musket. At that moment, Armstrong finally turned the switch of his machine gun into fully automatic. The recoil of the M240 is strong, but
Armstrong's name lives up to his physique, and he controls the fully automatic machine gun just fine. Like his arm acts like a recoil debuffer. At only 100 meters, Armstrong was able to hit the kamikaze drone, and both Cpt Tiger and Pvt Strong Armstrong ducked to avoid the blast. There is a loud bang, and
Armstrong is able to detonate the explosive charge of the drone. But there is still one more drone, and they don't have time or distance to shoot it down. It's probably the end of them, but Ivan and Archer wouldn't let that happen, and the other crew knew it, so they closed the hatch and braced themselves.
There's a 5-floor building in front of them. Tiger aims the main cannon in front of them, and using the last HEAT round that he loaded while Archer and Armstrong shoot down the drones, he pulls the trigger. With a deafening roar, the High Explosive Anti Tank round tore through the concrete, creating a gaping entrance. With nerves of steel, Ivan slammed on the brakes to the left, sending the tank into a 180-degree drift, expertly avoiding damage to the gun. Then the tank slammed into that blasted wall.
They're already inside the building, and they have the cover now. The kamikaze drone, still locked on Red Musket, hit the rooftop of the concrete building. It can't penetrate the thickness of 5 layers of concrete, so it just explodes upon impact.
Cpt Tiger released a whistle: "Good job, boys. Let's move out now." The tank started to move again. There was no time to stop, or they would become sitting ducks. They were aware that enemy tanks were already chasing them. But to their surprise, a single T90 was already aiming at them.
"T90 ahead!" Tiger informed Ivan, but Ivan was already prepared as expected, so he traversed the tank at lightning speed and again saved their precious tank from being hit.
After that, Ivan moved forward: "Hey! Don't you ever think about ramming an enemy tank again!" Tiger reminded Ivan, his voice having a mixture of genuine humour.
Ivan chuckled. "I won't."
"H-hey!" Archer genuinely, with fear, exclaimed. But Ivan rushed the T90 in front of it at full throttle and quickly turned it hard left. They almost scratched each other, but Ivan's driving was so precise. Then, the M1 Abrams accelerated while swaying to avoid incoming gunfire from that enemy tank.
A heart-pounding chase unfolded through the desolate city streets, a ballet of steel and fury as the T-90 pursued the Red Musket. The two armored behemoths thundered through the ruins, their tracks churning dust and debris, their engines roaring like enraged beasts.
The Red Musket, with depleted ammunition, relied on its maneuverability to evade the T-90's relentless pursuit. Scarface, the driver, expertly weaved the Abrams through the rubble-strewn streets.
The T-90, its gun-belching fire, kept up the pressure, its shells whistling past the Red Musket, each near miss a reminder of their precarious situation. Captain Tiger, ever resourceful, devised a plan to buy them time.
"Scarface, activate our smoke generator. Armstrong, use our grenade launchers to disorient them. Archer, keep hitting em with coax aimed at their sights. We'll make them blind."
"Yes, sir!" Crew responded in unison
Tank started belching white smoke from behind, and the coaxial machine gun spitting its lead to the enemy.
"At my signal, launch smoke grenades," he ordered.
Reaching beneath his seat, Tiger fumbled for something in the cramped confines of the Abrams' interior. Armstrong, puzzled, watched as Tiger finally extracted a bulky object.
An olive-green tube stretching over a meter long, with a smaller box-like device attached to the side, its screen displaying targeting information. It was a Javelin missile launcher,
Armstrong's eyes widened in disbelief. "How in the hell did you fit that in here?"
Archer, equally astonished, could only stare. "Goddamn it, Captain Boss! How did you hide that?"
Tiger chuckled, "Always make a pocket for your rocket. You never know when you'll need one."
Ivan, the driver, shook his head at Tiger's antics but couldn't help but wonder what else their Captain had stashed away. Feeling around his position, he discovered an RPG tucked beside him. It was a simple metal tube, slightly curved with wooden grips, its conical warhead menacingly pointed - a weapon of raw, close-quarters power.
On his other side, Ivan found a Stinger missile. Its sleek, cylindrical body was painted a dull grey, and its infrared seeker head gave it a distinctly modern, almost futuristic appearance.
The missile's compact size belied its deadly purpose, capable of bringing down even the most agile of aircraft.
"Unbelievable…" Ivan thought, a mix of amusement and awe washing over him.
Captain Tiger opened his hatch, "Archer, at the count of 5, deploy our smokes, and Scarface, after I fired the javelin missile, hit the true top speed of our Red Musket.
"Roger that!" both of them affirmed in unison. The Captain set up the javelin missile. He decided not to use the usual mode, which is the top attack mode; instead, he switched to the direct fire mode. He prepared himself for the attack, and then he started the countdown.
"5, 4, 3, 2…1. Deploy the smoke!" With that, Archer launched the smoke grenades, which were located in front of the turret. Although the enemy can still see them through smoke by the use of thermal imaging, it will still somehow reduce their visibility, then, Tiger, seizing this opportunity, rose from his position, the Javelin missile launcher braced against his shoulder. It's in direct fire mode, and it works like an RPG where the attack is in an almost straight line.
With a sharp hiss, the missile streaked forth, a fiery messenger of destruction. It arced through the smoke, a deadly comet illuminating the haze with an eerie glow. The T-90, its crew momentarily disoriented, never stood a chance.
The missile slammed into the T-90's hull with a thunderous roar, the impact sending a shockwave through the desolate cityscape. The enemy tank erupted in a blinding fireball, and a violent sun birthed amidst the ruins.
The Red Musket's crew watched in stunned silence as the T-90's turret, ripped from its body by the force of the explosion, soared skyward. The three enemy soldiers inside had ceased to exist, their lives extinguished in a violent instant.
There was no celebration, no triumphant cheers. The Red Musket's crew, their faces grim, their eyes haunted, could only stare at the twisted metal silhouette against the grey sky. They knew that in this unforgiving war, their fate could mirror that of their vanquished foes. Does someone really deserve to go out that way? What would their mother say if they found out their child is nothing but dust? Red Musket knows there is no turning back now; they won't regret it but will never forget it.
The crackle of the radio shattered the eerie silence that had settled over the Red Musket.
"Red Musket, Red Musket, this is Hornet. Over."
Captain Tiger grabbed the receiver, his voice crisp and professional. "This is Red Musket, Hornet, come in. Over."
"Red Musket, we've completed repairs and are ready to counterattack. By the way, that was quite a fireworks display you put on."
"Copy that, Hornet. However, we're retreating for now. Escort the 16th and watch out for enemy armor and mines. Over."
A brief silence followed, broken by another voice on the radio. "Red Musket, this is Warpig. 5th Russian Mechanized Infantry and Combined British and German Armor Division are en route to retrieve the 16th Infantry Division. Orders from higher up are to reclaim this city. Its railway is in a strategic location. They've also brought Leopard and Challenger squadrons. Over."
"Copy that, Warpig. However, we're low on fuel and ammunition. We're retreating for resupply. Over." — Tiger
"Red Musket. This is the 5th Mechanized Infantry. Please retreat to Location Alpha; one of our BTRs will escort you if you encounter some runts. Now leave this to us, comrades!"
"Red Musket, This is also the Combined Armor Div. Great job at holding there, but I hope you lads left us some armoured targets."
The Red Musket meets up with the Black Powder Squadron. Together with Hornet, they will retreat for needed resupply and repair. The Warpig and Crimson Jungle will temporarily be in direct order of 5th Mechanized infantry.
"We're going home for a while… boys. We fight for another day."