General Bob Turner stood at his field headquarters, the central building in a large base in southern Russia. The Russians under Putin fucked around and were finding out. They leveled Kyiv with a number air-fuel bombs, killing millions. Geneva called it a war crime. As such, Turner and the United States Armed Forces were deployed to settle the score. Russia was now a rogue state, and it was Turner’s job to clear a path to Moscow so special forces could capture the Russian leader to bring him to trial for his actions.

Turner and his command staff and officers were overseeing the battle unfold on the outskirts of Orenburg. The Air Force were busy dealing with Russian birds elsewhere and that left an open path to the city for Turner’s ground forces.

He sent the army in.

Hundreds of M1 Abrams tanks and M2 Bradley fighting vehicles backed by Paladin artillery and Apache helicopters poured into Russia.

The Russians weren’t exactly push overs. T-90 MS tanks and Mi-24 Hinds counterattacked, supported by Russian infantry and fire support. Lower-level officers and soldiers in the base were calling it the Battle of Orenburg.

But the Russians were definitely ‘finding out.’

American tanks were considerably better compared to their Russian counterparts and while Russian strategy was to overwhelm enemies with numbers and flanking tactics, they were on the backfoot. Turner’s tanks didn’t outnumber the Russians, but they were almost in equal numbers. And the quality was showing. It was taking serious effort and coordination to bring down one American tank.

The Bradley’s were a different story. Their counterpart was the Russian BMP-3. Bradley forces were on the Abrams’ flanks, tasked with flushing out and destroying Russian opposition. They didn’t have the same success as the tanks. BMP-3’s and a few BMPT-Terminators were inflicting back as much damage as the Bradley’s dealt against the Russians.

It was a Charlie Foxtrot.

Russian and American Anti-Air kept each other’s helicopters at arm’s length and artillery from both sides were pounding vehicles and infantry positions. The Russians were restricted to field artillery while Turner had self-propelled guns, but those Russians were not as disadvantaged as high command back home were led to believe. Field artillery was still effective in 2025.

Turner watched the live-action video and satellite feeds. Orenburg wasn’t going to be a cakewalk. But it was likely they would win.

From there, Turner’s next goal was to secure Samara, Ufa, and eventually take Yekaterinburg. Turner’s plans were to establish on the eastern side of the Volga River. He was doing this against his superiors’ wishes. They wanted a drive west. Turner would not give the American politicians Stalingrad 2.0: Electric Boogaloo.

The Germans tried it the first time around. They secured most of the city. But the time spent there gave the Russians time to build up a counterattack. The Russian counterattack encircled the Germans and cut them from reinforcements. The Germans eventually lost. His politicians thought things would be different this time around. History doesn’t repeat but it sure does rhyme.

It would be an utter disaster if Turner made a move on that city. Forces lost, huge Russian propaganda victory, and potentially a pull out just as the Americans were making good progress.

No.

Those stupid politicians would not have their Stalingrad.

Satellite feeds suggested that the Russians were fortifying both Volgograd and Saratov. Russian formations were amassing at Ulyanovsk and Kazan, looking to cut Turner off and force him into a protracted siege on one of the four cities. Turner would ignore them for the most part, and swing west after Yekaterinburg, cross the Volga further north, and strike Nizhny Novgorod from the northeast before rolling down the M7 highway to Moscow. Let the Russians fortify their line in the sand. Turner would pull an Ardennes on them.

Matt Smith was one of the tank commanders in Turner’s army. He led Fourth Squad of the second division sent into the fray. Fourth Squad was made up of five tanks and two fighting vehicles. The Russians took out one of his Bradley’s but none of the tanks were out of commission. In return, Smith and his soldiers took two T-90s and four BMP-3s.

Smith was ordered to cover the division’s flank on the east. He took his vehicles and made way towards the side.

“Wait. What is that sound?”

A very loud electronic sound reached into the tank’s hull and gripped the troopers manning the vehicle.

“Dunno, mate,” replied Dan, an Australian serving in the US army. He was the tank’s gunner.

Smith got on the comms and said to his squad, “All vehicles, pull over into the brush and come to a stop. I want to know more before we press on.”

The remaining vehicles drove into the shrubland.

“Okay. We’ve stopped. What’s up, Commander?” said Mark, the commander of another tank in the squad. A chorus of similar words came out of the commanders and crews of the other vehicles.

“You hear that sound?”

“Yeah,” replied Mark. “What of it?”

“Doesn’t sound like something we’d hear on a battlefield.”

“People, open the hatch and look over there!” Apparently, Fred of the Bradley went for a look see. That was mighty dangerous but for the moment they were relatively safe, being on the flank and out of the way of the main battle.

Smith popped the hatch of his tank. What he saw was unreal. And didn’t look Russian.

Far away was a blue storm of ... particles, was the best Smith could come up with. Like a hurricane or twister. It was maybe ten or fifteen kilos to the north by northeast.

Ahead of Smith and his squad was the Russians to the north and northwest. The Northeast was mostly clear of enemy vehicles. A few burning wrecks from artillery and helicopter strikes. But unlikely Russians up there. The ‘storm’ was located up in that neck of the woods.

One of the tank commanders opened comms, “You think it’s some new Russian weapon?”

“No. I don’t know what it is. It’s big. Estimating twenty meters tall based on the distance from us. I don’t want to proceed. We need to know more about this area. I don’t want to risk you guys. The rest of the battle seems to be going alright, so we’ll pull back.”

The blue storm, however, started to dissipate. And in its place was something that looked human from a distance.

“What the fuck is that?” One of the other tank commanders said the whole squad’s thoughts out loud.

It was a mech.

It wasn’t like something out of Gundam. But it wasn’t AT-ST either. The mech stood forty meters tall with somewhat of a bow legging, a squared torso, and wide shoulders. Its arms ended not in hands but what looked to be guns or at least sensors. A short, fat head perched on the torso. Smith would describe the mech as stocky.

“Teleportation complete, Commander. Something malfunctioned. We are not at our intended destination.”

“Sit Rep.”

“No can do now, Commander. Launching observation satellite.”

A shudder was heard by the commander. Satellite was launched.

“Commander, our destination is in fact correct. Our time, however, is not correct. The prototype upgrade appears to have malfunctioned and transported us in space and time.”

“Where are we, exactly, Computer?”

“Earth. In the central shrublands of the largest continent.”

“Date?”

“Unknown. The satellite is unable to triangulate a date based on local star positions. We may gain more information over time.”

“Blast it.”

“Language, Commander.”

The commander did not reply for a moment.

“Commander, hostiles have been identified.”

The commander pulled up his user interface. Indeed, there were hostiles. The computer had automatically labeled them with the names Stackhouse and Blackwell. The computer was unable to discern if either of them had an Armored Command Unit in play.

Stackhouse was a more powerful hostile. Its forces lay to the southwest, fifteen kilometers. The computer attributed Stackhouse with 50,000 score.

Blackwell was the weaker hostile. Its forces were to the west, ten kilometers. The computer attributed them 30,000 score.

The commander would need to work fast. Stackhouse was identified to have over a hundred Tech 2 tanks and another hundred Tech 1 tanks. Stackhouse additionally had thirty Tech 2 gunships and sixty Tech 2 mobile artillery. Stackhouse had thirty Tech 2 flak.

Blackwell only had sixty Tech 2 tanks. Blackwell had a hundred and twenty Tech 1 tanks. Blackwell only had twenty Tech 2 gunships. Blackwell had a hundred Tech 1 mobile artillery. Blackwell had twenty Tech 2 flak and twenty Tech 1 flak.

Neither Stackhouse nor Blackwell had any mobile missile launchers. The commander was unable to discern if either of his two opponents had air support beyond the gunships.

The commander got to work.

Far away at the tank squad location, Smith was sitting on the top of his tank with the rest of his crew. They were safe provided no one fired their weapons. Camouflage paint covering the tanks made them blend into the shrubland and unless you got within shooting distance of their sidearms, the average soldier wouldn’t be able to recognize there were ten tanks parked in the brush.

They did not know that the camouflage did not matter to Player Three, as the commander’s computer had already identified every vehicle and infantry squad of both the Americans and the Russians.

But for now, the commander was not able to go after Smith or most of the tanks arrayed against the commander.

Smith and his buddies were unable to raise communications with command. So, for the moment, they would sit tight, resting around their tanks and keeping watch. They had a few days’ worth of rations before needing to go back home and had basic campsite tools. They would be fine for the moment. The Russians were busy finding out what American firepower was capable of.

“Hey, commander. The mech is doing something.”

All eyes turned towards the mech. Smith and his officers got out the binoculars. What they saw was unusual, to say the least.

The mech turned and from its left hand fired a blue beam at a location nearby it. A structure was being created out of seemingly nothing. Twelve seconds later, it finished. The structure started to rotate. The mech started another. After four of them were built, the mech constructed a different structure. This structure looked like interconnected chains. As each was finished, they started to pump, for lack of a better word.

The mech started on a larger structure. This thing was a massive hulk of solid material. It was bigger than the mech. Thirty meters tall estimated. It had a raised platform and a large structure backing. The mech finished it thirty seconds later.

Then the structure started building units.

It was clear to the soldiers that the structure was a factory.

Smith started reacting. He climbed up on his tank and got inside the driver’s position.

“Oi, commander, what are you doing?”

Smith ignored the corporal. He turned the vehicle on and pulled out the communication headset. Smith dialed in command using a secret frequency and priority code. A grunt on the other side picked up.

“Who is this and how did you get this line?”

“This is lieutenant Matt Smith of third armored brigade, second battalion, second division, fourth tank squad. My original orders were to provide flanking support for squads engaging the Russians. We stopped. We’ve encountered a new threat. It’s not Russians.”

Some ruffles at command were heard by Smith. It was clear to him that the earpiece was being taken from the grunt and passed to someone higher up.

“This is General Turner, third armored brigade. What did you say? “Not” Russians?”

“No sir, I’ve got visual confirmation of new hostile.”

“Who are they? Kazakhstan?”

“No sir. Unknown.”

“Slow down, son.”

“I’ll start from the beginning.

“We saw a ‘storm’ as it might be described. It dissipated and left behind a colossal mech. At least thirty meters tall, twenty meters wide. It started construction of various structures, including a factory. The factory is constructing drones...”

“Smith! The factory has just finished what looks to be a tank! It’s got a gun and treads. Holy shit, it’s big,” said one of the troops on Smith’s hearing periphery.

“One of my men have just confirmed that the factory has produced something that resembles a tank. Player Three has entered the game.”

Seconds went by, the general lost in thought or frozen.

“Lieutenant, pull your men back. We’ll figure this out. Out.”

The call disconnected.

“Commander! Get up here and look!”

Smith got back on top of the tank and accepted the binoculars from one of his guys. The mech was making a move towards the Russians. It was being followed by several tanks. These things were huge, bigger than his Abrams. From a distance, they appeared to only have a tank gun. Nothing like machine guns. Smith also thought that they didn’t look all that well armored. Big gun, soft skin. Like a Bradley, although the Brad had missiles.

Back at the mech’s base, Smith noted several treaded vehicles were milling around, constructing more spinning and chain structures. They also had four more factories being built. From Smith’s position, the base had twelve chain structures and ten spinning structures. It would be a few more minutes until the new factories were built.

“We need to move, now. Corporal, go around, get the word out. Bring the tanks back online and move out. We’ll get back on the road and beeline for the border. Shit is about to get real.”

The commander was blasting Blackwell forces left, right, and center. He was joined by a horde of Strikers, intermixed with a few Archers and Lobos. A separate force of Mech Marines was sent north of his ACU’s position.

Mech Marines were taller than the tanks fielded against him, and they had inferior armament, but their autocannons would rip through soft skinned vehicles. There were also a lot of Mech Marines, and this would allow them to chew up isolated tanks.

Archers would cover air threats and the Lobos would provide area of effect ranged firepower.

Blackwell was reacting as an organic unit. No obvious centralized command structure. Blackwell might have computer assistance in organizing their units. Individual tanks would target his forces in sets. More than once, the commander needed to overcharge clumps of tanks.

The commander, satisfied he rattled them, pulled his ACU back from the front as a surge of Strikers rolled forward. Individually, each Striker was no match for even the Tech 1 tanks fielded against him, but for every enemy tank, there were four Strikers. Strikers would out-maneuver and get behind the enemy into their rears, where their unprotected engines were. His Strikers, however, had no weakness. It did mean that every angle was a weak point, but it meant that nothing blew up from random impacts at weird angles.

The commander rotated his damaged Strikers back with his Archers and Lobos. They had taken a beaten and he needed them around to discourage counter charging his Command Unit.

Blackwell forces tried to disengage as well, having been battered by his Strikers. They got carpet bombed by a stream of Scorchers. The Tech 1 bombers were named for their napalm bombs. Most of this Blackwell push was destroyed or burning. The commander grouped together ten engineers to pick up the reclaim.

The commander reached his base. Point Defenses and static anti-air were being constructed. He was up to +50 mass and +250 energy. His base had nine land factories and two air factories. He was too far away from any serious body of water for naval factories.

Blackwell, or rather, the Russians, were already on the backfoot from the American attack. And now a newcomer with strange equipment had entered the battlefield.

The newcomer had tanks just like any other operator. Granted, these tanks were massive. They towered over his tanks. Logic would have suggested these tanks would be slow and ponderous, slower than the Americans. Like something out of the Cold War or even World War 2.

Unlike the Americans, these tanks were fast and fragile like Russian designs and worked on Russian tactical doctrines. They blew up very good. There were just too many of them. The Russian flank was made up of fourteen T-90s and supporting BMP-3s. Twenty tanks from the east barreled into them, seemingly without care for their own lives. These newcomers were even more suicidal or less cautious than Moscow. Of the twenty tanks, all but six were destroyed. But the Russians lost eight of their own. The BMP-3s were unharmed; the attack was only aimed at the T-90s.

To the Russian commander’s northeast, his reinforcing BMP-3s were getting massacred by massive walking machines. These machines were smaller than the tanks his tanks engaged in battle and extremely fragile but there were also too many. His softer vehicles were taking huge casualties. Fortunately for him, his fellow comrades sounded a retreat. The walking machines were annihilated. His Russians still retreated because sensors confirmed a second wave of them coming.

The Russian commander on this flank ordered a general retreat. The Russians would lick their wounds. The bigger threat was still the Americans. Washington would have to deal with the newcomer on the eastern flank as well, justifying the lost ground. Hopefully the two would fight each other.

That being said, the Russian commander did not expect for light attack aircraft to fly in and bomb his damaged tanks. Of the six remaining vehicles, only two got out. The other four burned under what he thought was some incendiary weapon. Like napalm.

The Russian commander got confirmation that the mech had become isolated from the rest of its tanks. Time to hit it where it hurt.

The commander was going over the report that his computer sent him. Blackwell forces were primarily Tech 1. Those tanks were nothing like the Mantis, Auroras, or Thaams he was used to facing in the simulator. They were not quite Tech 2, though. Maybe equivalent to Pillars on a one-on-one basis. But they were not Obsidian or Ilshavoh level threats.

These Blackwell tanks were low to the ground and able to bounce shots that came in at weird angles. But they had a weak point at the back. The commander surmised that this was where the power plant was. It meant that the ideal tactic was to mash his hordes of Tech 1 spam into enemy formations. Blackwell tanks would have to risk shooting each other but his tanks would be able to get in close.

It was a mass inefficient trade, though. But sending waves of Strikers to the meat grinder would give him time to start production of larger units.

When the commander sent his army away, he was confident that Blackwell’s forces had been driven off for the moment. The commander quietly started gun upgrade and was set to have it for the next armored push.

The commander was also dozing off a bit.

“Commander, incoming forces from the north!” The computer alerted him.

The commander snapped out of his haze from her words. He pulled the user interface into focus. A force of twenty tanks were coming down the center of the hill valley from the north. His ACU was halfway through gun upgrade. He didn’t want to give up progress. The chassis would have to tank through it.

But the commander was not going to let Blackwell have free hits on his ACU. The commander rerouted his army back to his direction. It would be a minute before they got to him.

Blackwell tanks slowed and started to fire on his mech. Previously hidden light tanks opened fire on him as well. Things might get tight.

ACU hitpoints dropped below seventy-five percent. The commander shut off factories back at base to keep mass and energy streaming into the upgrade.

ACU hitpoints at fifty percent. Blackwell tanks managed to come into range and the mech fired back at them automatically and at random. A few of them fell before Blackwell realized the mistake and pulled back out of range. The ACU chassis started to burn.

ACU hitpoints at twenty-five percent. Gun upgrade completed. ACU back in action. The commander immediately set the nearest tank to be overcharged. The commander moved towards his army, ACU firing back at random.

Five thousand mass destruction threshold reached. ACU gained the first star of veterancy. ACU chassis gained twenty percent health. The fire went out.

The commander’s army reached his position and swarmed past him like torrential rapids. His mech was a boulder holding fast against the angry tide. Blackwell’s forces saw the writing on the wall and started to disengage. The commander was safe for the moment. He would live to the mission’s end.

Smith and his Abrams got engaged on by a horde of tanks. Two shots of 120-millimeter discarding sabot were enough to turn one into a burning wreck but like the Russians, Smith was finding himself outnumbered. Curiously, upon destruction, the enemy tanks turned black and stationary. No fuel or exploded ammunition in sight.

He had lost an Abrams. The Bradley was still intact. Two more tanks were damaged but capable of fighting on.

Smith’s tank pumped a 120-millimeter discarding sabot round into a tank that was closing ranks into his formation, and it blew up; its wreck skidding to a stop.

“Load sabot!”

Several seconds later, the Abrams put another tank down.

“Identify!”

“Hostile tank!”

“Continue fighting. Fighting retreat!” Smith urged his comrades.

His own Abrams was being peppered by low velocity shells. They weren’t doing that much damage individually, but they were adding up on his vehicle and the others under his command. They would mourn the lost soldiers later.

Unbeknownst to Smith and his beleaguered tankers, a wave of light bombers was sizing up for a bombing run on his position. They were ready to sacrifice the tanks interspersed around Smith, holding him down, for the bombers to come in and finish the job.

As the bombers came into visual range, a sonic boom rang overhead.

“This is Razor of the 5^th airborne. You guys sure have a party going. Mind if we weigh in our thoughts and prayers?”

A squadron of F-15 Eagles roared above the tankers’ heads. Rotary cannons and missiles cut the bombers down. A second wave of bombers coming into view immediately cut and ran to their base. In their place, a wave of interceptors replaced them. A dogfight broke open over the tankers. American fighters and bandits duking it out. The Eagles were cutting the hostiles down left and right.

Smith gave the order to push through the remaining tanks. The Eagles would be alright on their own and there was nothing that ground tanks could do to help them.

The Eagles had their own problems. Anti-air guns on the periphery peppered their birds and new waves of fighters were on their way into the fray. Razor ordered his birds to break for home. Their job was done. The tankers below them were safe from the attack aircraft and they slashed the enemy birds nicely. Time to bugger out before reinforcements arrived.

A squad of Russian tanks under command of Koza Palalov were doing force recon to the northeast. They were intending to flank the Americans from the east and catch some of their fighting vehicles by surprise. They were rerouted to engage a new foe that appeared in the east.

Their comrades in BMP-3s were getting carved up by the appearance of a walker unit and they were sent to intercept the remnants of those walkers.

Five T-90 tanks crested a ridge and walked into the line of fire of seven tanks ... tank destroyers? Tank destroyers. Seven tank destroyers.

These vehicles reared up on their four treads and extended a heavy cannon, which they fired on Koza’s tanks from long-range. Koza’s tanks returned fire, destroying two. The tank destroyers fired again, knocking out one of his tanks. Koza took two more of them down. The remaining three tank destroyers packed up and started to retreat.

(In Russian)

“Forward, glory Mother Russia!”

“Firing on target.”

“Hit.”

Another tank destroyer down.

“Hit them again.”

“Firing.”

The last two were destroyed. Smokeless black wrecks of them all.

“Commander, more tanks to the east. Different ones. Far away, though”

“Pull back. See if Tank Number 3 is operative. Call for a tow vehicle if not.”

Koza pulled his tankers back to the safety of the north.

The commander furrowed his brow. Reinforcements from the south, a squadron of Tech 2 air combat fighters, rescued Stackhouse’s column of tanks from his bombers. He chose to pull his second wave back instead of committing a suicide run to finishing off the tanks. The commander would eventually get them all.

“Stackhouse and Blackwell are responding to our presence properly, Commander.”

“Indeed. How are we on resources?”

“We are at +75 mass and +400 energy. Should we go for upgrades? Your comm is looking naked.”

“Not now. Initiate Tech 2 Land Factory HQ upgrade process on...,” the commander selected a backline factory, “Here.”

“Right away, Commander.”

“Build more interceptors. Another fifty should be enough.”

The commander assigned engineers to build Tech 1 Air Staging Platforms for his massive air force. He wanted to push past the Tech 2 stage into Tech 3 and so was pushing interceptors everywhere. Two factory waypoints were massing interceptors to guard against Stackhouse and Blackwell, respectively. Stackhouse had clear air combat ability. The stream going towards them was twice as big as the stream of air units guarding against Blackwell’s air force.

Arrayed against the commander was a paltry group of Tech 1 fighters and gunships. A set of ten gunships under cover of an additional ten fighters attempted to brush off one of his tank columns. The commander filled the skies with a hundred interceptors. The enemy fighters broke and tried to cover their gunships. After half of the fighters and all the gunships were destroyed, the remaining fighters tried to run. They didn’t make it. Granted, the commander lost thirty interceptors. Engineers were sent to clean up. The mass would be recycled back into more units.

Meanwhile, hordes of engineers were reclaiming the shrubs around the commander’s base. The commander wanted to reach Tech 4 by sunset.

Mexes were upgraded. Tech 2 power generators were coming online. Shields were being built.

The commander’s economy was at +75 mass and + 1100 energy. Proper Tech 2 upgrades would require up to a thousand energy per second to maintain build.

“I think we’re ready for upgrades, Computer.”

“Mhmm. Whatcha in for?”

“Start Tech 2 RAS. Then install the rotary cannon and sensor upgrade packages. We’ll see from there.”

Smith and company made it back to base on the double. The general’s base of operations was a hive of activity now that the base got the scoop that they were in a three-way free for all.

Trucks and personnel were running all over the base to ship-shape everything. Smith and his remaining troopers parked their tanks in the garage area and Smith dismissed them to whatever downtime they could get. His soldiers would be needed, and he wanted them rested as much as they could be.

Smith found out where the general was operating from and made his way there. Inside, the hive of activity was elevated several levels higher than the base outside. Personnel were running around everywhere. Smith checked in with security and was escorted to the general.

The general looked up.

One of the security guards spoke and introduced Smith.

“Sir, this is lieutenant Smith, of the armor squad that contacted the base. I’ll leave you two to it.”

And he left. The other guard with him moved to a post in the room.

Turner wasn’t one of those handsy-pansy generals that Washington liked to collect these days. The man got the job done. His orders were straight and to the point. Nothing flashy or stylistic. Everything cut and dry. Everything down to earth.

Smith came to attention and saluted. Turner waved him down.

“No need, lieutenant. So, you were there?”

“I saw it with my own eyes, sir.”

“Reports are coming in all over the place of unknown hostiles and bandits attacking our forces. I’ve ordered units to fall back as we take stock. Can you give any insight on what was happening?”

Smith started his tale.

“A “storm” appeared down range and a mech came out of it. The mech started constructing structures, one of which was a factory. I ordered my soldiers to bug out down the road. About halfway from that position to the base here, we were attacked by a large enemy force of tanks. They were physically larger than us but fragile like the Russians.

“The tanks seemingly threw their lives away to get in close. It was effectively a brawl. My tanks were able to blow them away, but a few vehicles were damaged. The enemy appeared to be trying to stop our movement.