NOVEL NEXT Before the final Storm
Ivan turned his head again, facing his crewmates. "It's going to be a rough ride, so you better use your seatbelts," he said.
"Seriously, dude, why do you always say that?" Archer chuckled, pointing out the apparent lack of seatbelts in their tank.
"Hey, Tiger," Armstrong said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "How about you install some seat belts for us?"
Tiger smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "What if I already did?"
"What the" Armstrong and Archer exclaimed in unison, their eyes widening in disbelief.
"Of course not," Tiger replied with a deadpan expression. "If we got hit and those seatbelts stuck us, we'd be cooked inside the tank before we could even escape."
"But after seeing all the modifications you've made, it seems like you've turned our tank into a glorified powder keg," Archer retorted, his voice laced with humor and exasperation.
"Yeah, that's right," Armstrong agreed, affirming. He rapped on one of the supposedly ARAT ERA boxes, eliciting a clunking sound of machine gun ammunition. "You've literally surrounded us with ammo."
"And also, how did this ridiculous modification get approved in the first place?" Archer added, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.
Despite the barrage of criticism from his crew, Tiger remained unfazed, simply shrugging and grinning from ear to ear. "But admit it, fellas," he said, his voice radiating pride. "Our tank looks badass now!"
Armstrong sighed, shaking his head in amusement. "Honestly, I'm all for badass things, but this tank has crossed the line into abomination territory. It's literally an iron monstrosity covered in explosives. And just look at the top of the turret – what the heck are those? An antenna and four machine guns, for starters."
Finally overwhelmed by the harsh criticism, Tiger conceded defeat. "Alright, let's just focus on its performance, okay?" he said, surrendering his hands.
Ivan joined the chorus of complaints. "And I bet you've also crammed some portable missiles into our already cramped tank," he said, his voice laced with disbelief. "How did you even manage to get permission to carry such valuable weapons for our infantry?"
"I mean, it could be a secret tool we can use for later, you know?" Tiger answered
Ivan sighed. "All right, let's hope this is enough for Tomorrow's battle.
The Red Musket crew glanced at their tank once again.
Archer, his usually cocky demeanor replaced by a somber seriousness, gazed at the tank, his eyes tracing the contours of the armored behemoth. "I'll admit," he said, his voice laced with a hint of doubt, "I still have my reservations about our chances Tomorrow. But I'll do my damnedest to hit our mark and finish this war once and for all."
Armstrong raised his clenched fist, his eyes burning with determination. "There's no denying the odds stacked against us," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "But we've faced insurmountable challenges and always risen to the occasion. This time is no different. We'll punch through their defenses and end this senseless war."
Ivan nodded in agreement, his usual stoicism masking a deep well of emotion. "As I said before," he said, his voice steady and unwavering, "I'll do everything in my power to drive us to victory, to drive us towards…your future."
Tiger, his heart overflowing with gratitude for his loyal crew, looked at them with eyes filled with pride. "Gentlemen," he began, "I've never been prouder to call you my crew. For two years, we've fought side by side through trials and tribulations, victories and defeats. Together, we've become not just a tank crew but a symbol of courage, intelligence, and resilience. Even when we've fallen, we've risen again, stronger and more determined than before."
He paused, letting his words sink in, before continuing, "Tomorrow, we face our final battle, our last stand, our final push towards a better future. And though I may not be the perfect captain, I will exhaust every ounce of my strength, every fiber of my being, to ensure our victory."
With a final surge of emotion, Tiger rose to his full height, his hands raised in a crisp military salute. "It has been an honor to fight alongside you, my brothers-in-arms."
The crew returned the salute.
"We will roll out at 0700 hours sharp," Tiger declared, "Make sure you get enough rest. That is all. Dismissed!"
"Yes, sir!" the crew responded in unison.
Thus, the crew spent their remaining hours before the final push.
Archer made his way to the nearby town. He carried with him a bottle of Bowman's favorite brandy, a comforting reminder of the brother he had lost to the ravages of war. Despite the ongoing conflict and his soldierly duties, Archer was granted permission to purchase because of the Red Musket's reputation.
With the bottle cradled in his arms, Archer ventured to the wreckage of their former tank, the
T-90. The sight of the turret, torn open by enemy fire, and the deformed frontal hull, caused by Ivan's desperate ramming maneuver, stirred a storm of emotions within him.
Archer poured out the brandy on the tank. He spoke to Bowman. He vowed to honor his brother's memory by surviving the war, returning home to care for their mother, and supporting Bowman's wife and children.
Though he couldn't be certain if Bowman could hear him, Archer felt an undeniable connection to his brother. This bond transcended the boundaries of life and death. In his heart, he knew that brothers were always connected, no matter the distance or the circumstances.
Armstrong spent his day exercising, focusing on strengthening his arm. Afterward, he went to the kitchen and prepared a barbecue for the evening. While marinating the meat, he wrote a heartfelt letter to his fiance, expressing his love, longing, and excitement for their upcoming wedding.
Tiger remained confined to the hangar, his mind consumed by the battle plan's intricacies and the battlefield's complex topography. The impending clash of arms weighed heavily on his shoulders, demanding undivided attention. He meticulously studied the maps, scrutinizing every detail, every potential obstacle, every possible enemy position.
Yet, amidst the relentless pursuit of victory, Tiger sought solace in the cherished letters from his beloved daughter. He reread them with a tender touch, each word a lifeline connecting him to a world of innocence and love far removed from the harsh realities of war.
The warmth of her words infused his heart with a renewed sense of purpose. He envisioned her bright smile, infectious laughter, and dreams for the future. Her innocent scribbles and heartfelt expressions reminded him of the world he fought to protect. In this world, his daughter could grow up in peace, free from the fear of war's devastating grip.
Ivan found himself immersed in the intricate details of the battlefield, his eyes tracing the contours of the maps with unwavering focus. Like Tiger, he meticulously studied the terrain, scrutinizing every hill, river, and potential obstacle in their path. His mind was a whirlwind of calculations and strategies, each mental maneuver aimed at ensuring the Red Musket's swift and effective movement.
His previous mistake, the costly error that had nearly cost them their lives, served as a stark reminder of the battlefield's unforgiving nature. Ivan was determined to ensure that such a lapse would never happen again. He meticulously scanned the maps, identifying potential mudflats, swamps, and treacherous fields that could hinder the tank's progress.
When the night settled down, the crew had a simple and small barbeque party, which they also shared with the other squad. You can compare that night to the calm before the storm. They knew that Tomorrow would change history; this might be their last night, their last smile and laughter, and the last time they could eat together. But it wasn't that bad at all.
*********
As the first wisps of dawn crept into the darkened room, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the walls, Ivan stirred from his restless slumber. His eyes fluttered open, the darkness still clinging tenaciously to the world outside, broken only by the faintest sliver of light that struggled to pierce through the heavy drapes. He glanced at the clock, its luminous hands pointing to the unforgiving hour of 5:00 AM.
Ivan decided to rise from his slumber, sleep eluding him throughout the night. His eyes remained shut, but rest had evaded him. Ever since the war had begun, sleep had become a fleeting visitor. This tantalizing mirage remained just beyond his grasp.
Whether from the sheer exhaustion of battle or the relentless torment of nightmares, sleep had abandoned him, leaving him adrift in a sea of restless thoughts and haunting memories. The voices of his loved ones, their cries of pain and anguish, echoed incessantly in his mind, transforming his slumber into a tormented battlefield.
The briefing concluded, Tiger's words echoing in Ivan's mind: "This operation is no ordinary engagement. We must be prepared for anything." The impending mission was far from a routine tank-on-tank battle. It was a plunge into the unknown, where adaptability and resourcefulness would be their greatest assets.
Ivan was equipped with his FN SCAR rifle, Glock sidearm, a few grenades, and some smoke grenades. He knew his gear was designed for open-combat scenarios, not the confined space of a tank. However, Tiger's directive was clear: be fully prepared for any eventuality.
Despite the potential discomfort of wearing full gear inside the tank, Ivan understood the importance of being prepared for the worst-case scenario. If their tank were immobilized and they had to continue on foot, his infantry training and equipment would be crucial for their survival.
He loaded his FN Scar rifle and double-checked his sidearm, ensuring it was secure in its holster. The grenades nestled within his vest. Finally, when he finished putting all his gear, his reflection stared back at him from the mirror affixed to his locker. The image that greeted him starkly contrasted with the youthful, carefree spirit he carried within. Despite being a mere 20 years old, his face bore the marks of a life already weathered by war and hardship.
Deep-set shadows, like the lingering traces of sleepless nights, ringed his eyes, their once vibrant hue dimmed by the horrors he had witnessed. A jagged scar, a brutal souvenir from that bomb, etched its way from his eye to his cheek. And in his eyes, once filled with the sparkle of youthful optimism, there was now a haunting emptiness, a reflection of the soul that had seen too much too soon. Ivan's physical visage was a testament to the toll the war had taken.
Alongside the mirror is a picture of his family. He always noticed the difference between the present and the past. If he can only just go back…
Ivan removed the picture attached to his locker and securely placed it inside his combat vest. "I will be home soon, so please wait for me. I will go to that place." He finally left his barracks.