The battle raged on, flashes of muzzle fire cutting through the evening haze as the Minutemen and Spartan Order pressed their assault. The Reich troops were forced back from the compound's entrance, though scattered gunfire still came from the walls where a few desperate defenders held on. Two Minutemen in power armor led the charge, the heavy clank of their boots and the hiss of hydraulics accompanying each advance as they absorbed volleys meant for the soldiers behind them.
Colonel Miller's radio crackled to life, Idiot's voice urgent, heavy breaths audible.
"We're out. Civilians safe — but listen, Colonel. They've got a tank. A real one. Functioning. It's moving."
Miller's expression darkened. He snapped his gaze toward General Ward, raising his hand to signal for attention.
"General — new development, they've—"
Before he could finish, the unmistakable metallic groan of treads grinding against asphalt echoed from around the hospital's corner. A bulky, patched-together behemoth emerged, a grotesque fusion of a pre-war American tank and salvaged Russian armor plating. Its hull bore the crude, insignia of the Fourth Reich. Sparks danced from exposed weld seams as its turret screeched in protest, swiveling toward the advancing force.
The Reich's prized machine belched a deafening crack as its main cannon fired. The shell struck one of the lead power armor troopers square in the chest, the impact sending a thunderous shockwave through the air. The soldier's armor caved, but miraculously didn't shatter. Yet the sheer force hurled the armor backward several meters, the occupant lifeless before it hit the ground.
Silence hung in the air for a half-second — then chaos resumed.
The tank was a nightmare none of them had prepared for. In all their planning, no one expected the Reich to field a functioning armored vehicle. Without proper anti-tank weaponry, the Minutemen and Spartan Order troops found themselves scrambling. The hulking machine pressed forward, its treads grinding over debris as Reich reinforcements poured from the subway entrance — some armed with rocket launchers, others clad in heavier armor wielding machine guns.
The second power armor trooper took a direct hit to the legs from a rocket. The armor absorbed the blast, sparing the soldier's life, but the concussive force jammed the servos. The suit's limbs locked mid-stride, and the massive armored frame toppled forward with a metallic crash, incapacitated.
The Reich soldiers surged with new morale, shouting triumphantly as they pressed their offensive. Gunfire intensified. Minutemen began to fall — casualties mounting as the line wavered under the weight of the enemy's counterattack.
From the hillside, Anna and the sniper team continued to harass the Reich soldiers. One by one, she picked off officers and gunners, but when she saw the tank begin to swivel its turret in their direction, a chill ran down her spine.
"Chyort…" she cursed under her breath, suddenly realizing what was coming.
Frantically, she grabbed one of the nearby Minutemen snipers, trying to warn him — but the language barrier slowed her down. She gestured desperately, pointing to the tank, mimicking an explosion with her hands.
Luckily, one of the Minutemen snipers spotted the turret's movement just in time. His face paled.
"Move! Get off the hill — now!" he shouted.
Without hesitation, Anna grabbed her rifle and slid down the slope, dirt and rocks spraying behind her. Two snipers followed, half-running, half-sliding. In their panic, the remaining two stumbled, tumbling head over heels until a thick tree trunk abruptly stopped their fall, knocking the wind out of them.
A heartbeat later, the tank's cannon roared. The sniper position they'd held moments before vanished in a geyser of flame, soil, and shattered branches.
The battle was quickly unraveling.
-----
Colonel Miller ducked behind a section of the compound's outer wall, bullets chewing through the air around him. The heavy thud of the tank's treads and the crackle of gunfire echoed across the battlefield. His heart lurched as he saw the sniper position on the hill explode in a plume of dirt and flame.
"Anna!" he shouted instinctively, snatching the radio from his belt, fear tightening his voice.
"Anna, report! Are you there?!"
For a moment, static.
Then her voice came through — ragged, breathless, but alive.
"We made it, Dad. We're clear of the hill. Took a dive just before the shell hit. Two of the boys had a rough landing, but we're fine. No casualties."
Relief swept over him like a wave, though his grip didn't ease on the rifle in his other hand.
"Good. Stay low and regroup. We're pinned down here — they've brought in reinforcements and that damned tank's locking us in."
As Miller spoke, nearby Spartans and Minutemen lobbed grenades in desperate attempts to disable the advancing machine, each explosion rattling the ground but barely scratching the tank's thick, scavenged armor. Reich soldiers in heavier gear pressed their advantage, forcing Ward's men to retreat deeper behind debris and crumbling walls.
"Ward!" Miller called out to the general, catching his attention through the chaos.
"We'll need something to take that tank out — or it's going to cut us to pieces."
General Ward nodded grimly, shouting orders to reposition his remaining power armor trooper and have Minutemen riflemen focus fire on the Reich soldiers attempting to flank.
General Ward quickly rallied his remaining troops for one final push. The plan was desperate, but it was their only chance. "We need to get close and plant charges on that thing!" Ward barked, signaling the power armor troopers to lead the charge while light infantry followed in their wake. Colonel Miller's Spartans joined the effort, weaving between cover and firing as they advanced. Explosives were prepped, grenades hurled, and for a brief moment it seemed they might break through. But the Fourth Reich soldiers, emboldened by the tank's presence, held their ground fiercely. Machine guns , cutting down several Minutemen as they tried to close the distance. The rockets from the soldiers and the tank, forced the power armor troopers into defensive positions. Despite their determination, the attacking force was unable to breach the last stretch of open ground. The Reich troops clung to their positions, denying Ward's men any chance to reach the tank. The failed assault left them exposed and taking casualties — and it was clear to both Ward and Miller that the tide of battle had turned against them.
------
The situation had spiraled fast. General Ward's jaw tightened as he took in the chaos — the tank's relentless advance, the rising casualties, and the enemy's sudden surge in morale. They hadn't expected armor .
"We're pulling back!" Ward bellowed over the radio, his voice carrying through the smoke and gunfire.
"All units — fall back to rally point Charlie! Power armor troopers, cover the retreat!"
The remaining four power armor soldiers moved forward, heavy frames absorbing the brunt of enemy fire as they laid down suppressive bursts. Behind them, Minutemen riflemen broke cover in staggered groups, moving from debris to ruined walls, smoke curling through the air.
One of the immobilized suits lay in rubble where the rocket had struck. Under covering fire, a pair of minutemen managed to haul the trooper out, prying loose the fusion core and slapping a shaped charge against the chassis.
"No salvage for them," one muttered grimly before retreating.
"Smoke out!" came the next order.
Grenades arced through the air — white plumes billowing up instantly, cloaking the compound in a thick fog. Mixed within were fragmentation grenades, their detonations punctuated by sharp screams from Reich soldiers caught unaware in the haze.
"Move! Move!" Ward urged, ushering the last squad toward a dense cluster of trees and broken structures beyond the compound. The Reich tank's gun remained silent, its crew unable to see through the smoke and unwilling to waste shells blind.
Up on the treeline, Anna and the remaining snipers worked with grim efficiency. Each time a Reich soldier strayed too far from cover, a sharp crack cut through the night, another figure dropping limp in the dirt. She didn't stop moving either — shifting position after each shot, wary of return fire.
"We've got you covered, Dad," Anna's voice came over the radio.
"Keep them moving. We'll be right behind."
Through the swirling smoke and the whine of ricocheting rounds, the battered minutemen force slipped away into the night, dragging their wounded, carrying the fallen, and leaving behind the shattered ruins of a battle that hadn't gone their way.
-----------------
The Obersturmführer stood at his desk, pistol in hand, his expression unreadable as he awaited the next report. The distant sound of gunfire had faded, leaving an uneasy silence. After a tense stretch of time, a knock came at the door of the room now repurposed as his office.
"Enter."
An officer stepped in, posture rigid, a mix of grim satisfaction and unease on his face. He saluted sharply before speaking.
"Herr Obersturmführer— the tank has been deployed. Even in its unfinished state, it performed effectively. We've taken heavy casualties, but the reinforcements arrived in time to turn the tide. We managed to disable two of the enemy's power armor suits. Unfortunately, during their retreat, they placed explosives on one, damaging it beyond recovery. However, the second suit, aside from its damaged chest plate, remains largely intact. Our engineers are in the process of relocating it for proper examination."
The Obersturmführer nodded, a flicker of satisfaction breaking his otherwise cold demeanor.
"Good," he muttered, lowering his pistol to the desk.
But the officer remained stiff, his eyes betraying unease.
The Obersturmführer's gaze narrowed. "Is there more?"
The officer swallowed hard, drawing a breath before speaking.
"Yes, sir. During the fighting… it appears an enemy squad managed to infiltrate the compound and free the captives."
The Obersturmführer's face twisted in fury, his fist slamming onto the desk with a sharp crack. The officer stiffened even further under his glare.
After a long, tense moment, the commander exhaled, mastering his anger.
"Form search parties," he ordered coldly. "I want them found. Alive, if possible. Dead, if necessary." He turned away, his tone brooding. "And I want to see the recovered power armor myself. Dismissed."
The officer saluted quickly and hurried out of the room, leaving the commander alone in his office.
-------------------
The Minutemen and the Spartan Order troops moved through the quiet woods and broken roads, weary but alive. Wounded soldiers leaned on their comrades, and those in better shape kept a sharp watch on their rear, wary of any pursuit. The settlement of Covenant came into view .
The sight of the battered column alarmed the townsfolk. Within moments, people poured from homes and gates, carrying stretchers, water, and medical supplies. Covenant's guards helped ferry the injured inside as the settlement's doctor and volunteers rushed to tend to wounds.
General Ward met with the settlement leader near the town's entrance, his face weary beneath the grime and sweat of battle. He explained the situation . The settlement leader listened grimly, nodding in understanding, and quickly offered shelter and supplies.
Later, inside a modest meeting room within Covenant's walls, Ward gathered with Colonel Miller, Sergeant Major Cole, several Minutemen officers, and a few members of the order . A single lightbulb hung overhead, casting flickering light across their tired faces.
"If it wasn't for that damned tank," Ward began, voice low but edged with frustration, "we'd have had them. We pushed them hard — harder than they expected."
Miller leaned forward, nursing a bloodied bandage on his arm. "We nearly did. Our front held, our infiltration team freed the captives… but with no anti-armor and those reinforcements, it turned. Fast." He gestured toward the others. "I've got men badly injured. We're grateful for the people's help."
Sergeant Major Cole spoke up next. "Twenty percent losses, sir. That's what we're looking at." He sounded bitter, like the number physically pained him.
The room fell quiet for a long moment before Anna, seated beside her father, broke the silence.
"At least those people are free," she said softly, her gaze steady. "That matters."
Miller gave a small nod. "She's right," he said, glancing at Ward. "We hit them hard, freed those captives, and cost them. This wasn't the win we wanted — but it wasn't nothing."
Ward exhaled, running a hand over his face. "We'll call it what it is — a defeat," he said grimly. "But one they'll bleed for. Next time… we'll be ready for them ."
A few grim nods followed. Plans for retaliation and countermeasures were already beginning to take shape in their minds.
-------------------
The sounds of gunfire and explosions still echoed faintly in the distance as the infiltration team and the freed captives pushed through the ruined streets. The group, numbering several dozen, moved quickly but with growing exhaustion. Wounded stumbled, supported by others, while the soldiers kept to the rear and flanks, alert for any sign of pursuit.
After some time, it became clear they had to stop. The injured needed tending, and moving through unfamiliar streets in the dark would be too dangerous. It was then that one of the Minutemen spotted a structure rising ahead — another hospital, long abandoned but still standing.
They approached it cautiously, weapons at the ready. Stepan and Idiot moved ahead, checking the interior, their rifles raised. The old building was silent, debris littering the floors and faded signs still hanging on the walls. Satisfied there was no immediate threat, they gave the signal to move in.
As the group entered, those from the Metro stared in awe. Years spent in the suffocating tunnels beneath Moscow made even the ruined remains of a surface building astonishing. Wide halls, high ceilings, and crumbling remnants of pre-war life — it was like stepping into a long-lost world.
The wounded were laid out on old gurneys and across dusty floors. Here, the problem of communication surfaced once again, frustration building as orders and questions passed between people who couldn't understand one another.
Then, from among the Metro survivors, a voice called out.
"I… I speak English."
A man, older and gaunt but with sharp eyes, raised his hand. His name was Yuri. Stepan clapped him on the shoulder, relief evident in his expression. With Yuri translating, coordination became smoother. Minutemen and Spartans worked together, cleaning wounds, bandaging injuries, and calming the terrified civilians.
The Minuteman who'd taken a bullet to the leg was lucky; the round had passed clean through. They cleaned the wound with what little antiseptic they could find and bound it tightly. Those less seriously hurt received similar care.
Night fell outside the broken hospital windows. The distant sound of battle faded into the oppressive stillness of the Commonwealth night. With no safe way to continue and wounded unable to travel, the decision was made to hold up in the hospital until morning.
Sentries were posted , the soldiers checked the weapons and supplies they had . Inside, people huddled together for warmth, the old walls offering some sense of security amid the ruins. For the first time since their escape, the exhausted survivors could rest.
Stepan and Idiot sat with their rifles nearby, quietly speaking in Russian. The Minutemen kept a respectful distance, trusting them now after seeing them fight. Yuri drifted between groups, translating where needed, slowly bridging the language barrier.
It wasn't much, but for now — it was safety.
Morning came, a dull grey light filtering through the cracked windows of the ruined hospital. The survivors and soldiers stirred, sore and weary but alive. No one knew the fate of the battle back at the Reich compound — and no one wanted to risk waiting to find out. If the Reich had won, soldiers would be sweeping the area before long.
Gathering what little they had, the group prepared to move. The two Minutemen soldiers conferred with Yuri, who passed the message along.
"There's a settlement," one of the Minutemen said, "and an old National Guard training yard nearby — we've repurposed it for training and defense. We'll be safe there."
Stepan and Idiot exchanged a glance, then nodded firmly. Yuri relayed the message, and within minutes the group was ready to move, the wounded helped along by fellow settlers and metro people alike.
They moved through the desolate streets of the Commonwealth, past crumbling houses, rusting vehicles half-buried in debris, and old billboards faded by time. Despite the dangers of the wasteland, the ruined quiet felt almost serene compared to the horrors of the night before.
Eventually, they reached the outskirts of the facility — the pre-war National Guard training yard, now fortified with heavy walls and watchtowers. Sentries in Minutemen uniforms spotted them quickly, their rifles raised until the leading soldier called out. Recognizing the Minutemen uniforms and seeing the wounded among them, the guards relaxed.
A small contingent came out to meet them, weapons slung but at the ready. They exchanged quick words with the Minutemen in the lead, confirming what had happened. While they knew of the planned assault on the Reich base, they hadn't expected anyone to arrive to them , due to not being informed beforehand.
The wounded and the freed captives were quickly led inside the walls. Within the perimeter, sentries stood watch alongside reprogrammed Sentry Bots and a pair of patrolling Protectrons, their metallic forms moving with mechanical precision. The old training yard had become a bustling outpost, its structures reinforced, tents and makeshift barracks scattered around the central grounds.
Medics rushed forward to tend the injured, while food and water were distributed. For the first time in days, the survivors felt a flicker of safety.
Stepan, Idiot, and the two Minutemen remained together, watching over the freed captives as they were ushered to rest and medical care. Yuri stayed nearby, ready to translate when needed.