Chapter One

Kenneth and a badly wounded Wellington escape into the frontier after the raid on the camp, marking the beginning of a dangerous journey. (Daily chapter)

On a couple occasions, Kenneth remembered the edges of his vision being obscured by black as he stared out the porthole, almost unblinking. Wellington had been completely silent the entire time, and every once in awhile Kenneth looked over his shoulder to check on him.

Their camp had been raided by the enemy, and they were forced to flee. Kenneth, the commander, was unsure as to where he should drive, as there was now no real orders for him apart from the ones his mind gave him, demanding him to keep moving. They would be able to drive the tank for quite awhile, after the restoration had renewed the fuel supply. The Panther began to move onto rather rough terrain, and the occasional bump sent small vibrations throughout the silent hull with a slight buzzing sound. Kenneth's eyes were now sunken, after being constantly aware of the outside all night long. He was growing tired, but still felt he should put more distance between them and the enemy. The enemy he fought against had a mastermind leading them, and caution was key for even the smallest of victories.

They needed to get back behind friendly lines as soon as possible, before the fuel eventually did run out, leaving them stranded on the front line. Kenneth also was unsure of how well Wellington would hold up with the wound in his chest. He had never actually seen a gunshot wound up close before, but he expected them to be more lethal than they apparently were. All the same, this only brought more attention to the fact finding a medic was in top priority now. Knowledge was power, and since Kenneth had no knowledge on the subject he was powerless.

At last, the commander brought the steel beast to a halt and grabbed his binoculars from the side of the hull, opening the hatch on the turret and peering outside with the binocs around his neck. After surveying the environment, Kenneth quickly noticed the chirping of birds and the faint rustle of wind in the trees. The leaves of these trees were lit up in a multitude of warm colors, and were falling to the ground around Kenneth silently, creating a landscape pathed with them. It was autumn, after all, and Russia looked beautiful this time of year. Kenneth was unsure of his location in the huge country, however, and put the binoculars up to his eyes. It was a fiery colored forest with trees scattered around rather sparsely. The air was crisp and fresh, and the environment eerily silent apart from the rustling of dry leaves.

Time seemed to tick on slowly as Kenneth observed, finding the environment to be very calm and relaxing as the sky was a dull gray, obscured by clouds for miles. The weather itself was fairly cold. The commander was rather certain he could soon expect a light rain to arrive within the hour. Breathing in this fresh air immediately seemed to energize him as well, despite the faint smell of the Panther's exhaust.

"H- Hello!"

Kenneth spun to find the source of the rather young sounding voice. Upon doing so his eyes met with a youthful soldier in Imperialist uniform stumbling across the frontier in the distance towards the tank. A friendly soldier.

"Hello! Who is this?!" Kenneth shouted back, getting a close up view of the boy with his binoculars.

"I'm Aron Grunwuld of the twenty third infantry division! The rest of my platoon was killed by a sniper and... I've been wandering around this forest for a couple of days now and am getting pretty hungry! Got any food in there?!"

Kenneth lowered his binoculars and promptly replied.

"Yeah, we have some standard rations! Soup and some water!"

The soldier picked up his pace a little.

"Alright, thanks, I'm just glad to see someone who's not tryin' to ki-"

Kenneth jerked down a little as a loud 'bang' rang through the area, followed by the soldier falling to the ground with a hole through his head abruptly. The tank commander looked at the corpse in horror momentarily before the sound of another bullet bouncing off the side of the turret caused him to nearly fall back into the crew compartment in a heap.

"Holy... Holy s**t..."

He mused, clumsily shutting the hatch and taking hold of the controls. The engine roared to life, and the vehicle began accelerating. There was another 'clank' as a bullet ricocheted off the tank once more, and Kenneth floored the pedal. The Panther began to move in no real direction other than away.

Kenneth's face was almost expressionless. Seeing someone die so close to him was something he had never experienced before in true combat. Kenneth was a nobleman who descended from a long line of tank commanders, so perhaps he should have expected to see something like this. He had always thought tank combat would primarily be against other tanks, and despite seeing his own crewmember die two days ago, Kenneth felt the same fear he experienced then.

Fighting like this was the tradition of his family, and as a child he always thought tanks were cool and safe. True war was very different than what the movies and stories had told him. Kenneth had only been on the front lines for a week and already felt lucky to have been given a Panther due to his noble status, and not some Panzer lV. Surely he would have been dead if he had any worse armor than he did now. But now where was he even going? For all he knew he could be driving right into the palm of his enemies' hand. Without any crew at all, for that matter, which made the vehicle silent and vulnerable. His leg had also been wounded, but he had bandaged it with the first aid kit along with his comrades' more serious wound, thankfully stopping the bleeding. The liver must not have been hit too badly, and if he was lucky, it was only a pistol round that had hit Wellington, and not a larger rifle round. He had removed the bullet, but was unsure of the caliber and size.

Kenneth tried to stay as optimistic as possible at the situation he was being put in, but he was being thrown into the wilds of war blind, forced to learn how to swim quickly or drown in his own blood.
The pitter patter of rain on the tank's roof began to increase in volume gradually, only helping the young commander to imagine the metaphor in greater detail. He was probably surrounded by enemy soldiers, and the only reason he hadn't died yet was because their weapons were incapable of harming him. But what would happen when he drove past some Panzershreks or Bazookas? They could be taking aim at any moment now, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Kenneth swallowed and shook himself off, making his way deeper into unknown territory. His mind continued to race and race, until he heard a noise coming from outside. The commander tried to think of anything else it could possibly be, but eventually faced the facts.

He was hearing the sound of an enemy tank column.

Author's Note

I'm implementing a daily chapter system where I will have chapters ready in advance, suggestions for plot, and improvement will be considered in the production of future chapters!