Licking Wounds [Tankiverse fanfic]

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

Licking Wounds

Fanfic in the Tankiverse by Hippin_in_Hawaii

 
The farm truck was parked near the base of one of the abandoned silos. Branches and debris were piled about it as if it had been sitting for years. Dwight was there; that was good.
 
“Commander, the steering is very sloppy.”
 
Auschun didn’t need Peter to tell him that. He could feel the uncharacteristic wiggle in the tank’s course, hear the higher-pitched elements in the squeal of the treads, and see the pronounced worry on Maria’s face. He reached out and stroked the inner wall of the hull. “Only a few hundred meters more, my love,” he whispered. “Only a few hundred meters.”
 
“If we can make it to the warehouse at the far side, at least we will be concealed while we make repairs,” said Maria.
 
“It seems Dwight shares your assessment, Maria. Look, he opens the doors for us!” cried Peter.
 
The tank scarcely fit through the doors, but the interior of the former warehouse was amply spacious. Dwight had a small fire blazing cheerily in one corner.
 
“My friends, you are so very late!” called Dwight. “I was beginning to worry, and to think I should drink all the beer myself!”
 
“We were forced to return more slowly than expected,” said Auschun, climbing from the tank. “We had to ford a stream, and the bottom was very rough, with many stones and boulders. We feared that we had damaged the repairs to the treads, and indeed, it seems we are fortunate to have made it here.”
 
“Well, the fire is warm, the beer is cold, and I have beef ready to be cooked!” announced Dwight to a round of tired cheers.
 
“I will do inventory and maintenance while the food cooks, Commander,” said Deila.
 
“You may do inventory, but you will defer maintenance until the morning, Gunnery Officer. You will drink beer, and eat meat, and sit with the rest of us.”
 
“As you wish, Commander,” smiled Deila.
 
They gathered around the fire. Auschun felt it proper to make a small speech. “It is strange, is it not, our lot in this?” The crew nodded and grunted in agreement. “Here we are, our tank damaged on maneuvers, abandoned by our company when they were recalled. Left to make our way as best we could with what they could leave us from their own pockets. Our mission changed from training to survival in the blink of an eye. And yet, here we are, triumphant!” His crew cheered; beers were raised. “We are the most successful unit in this conflict! We have struck the Gaks five times, and we will strike them more!” They roared with approval. “When the histories are written, our names will figure prominently! We are heroes of our homeland!” It was genuinely impressive how much noise five soldiers, when properly motivated, could make!
 
There was meat, seared on a grate over hot coals, with plenty of salt and pepper for seasoning. The beer, although thin Gak swill, was indeed cold, and Dwight had brought much. The crew laughed and feasted and sang songs of the homeland through the night, greeting the rising sun the next day. Remains of the steaks served as breakfast.
 
Maria came looking for Auschun a few hours later. “Commander, it is as we feared. Each of the replacement links we fabricated has deformed badly. With all of Peter’s skill, we may make ten kilometers before the first fails.”
 
“We can make repairs, yes?”
 
“Only just, Commander. We did not expect to have to replace them all at once; we have only as many links as we will need.”
 
“And how long will this take?”
 
“Two days, Commander. More, if we take the time to repair or fabricate new replacements, assuming we can find the steel.”
 
Auschun waved at the structure around them. “Steel we have in abundance, Marie. Very well. It would be unwise for us to continue with no provision for repair; we will stay here for three days. You have the authority to use the crew as you see fit.”
 
Maria headed back to the tank, pausing to awaken Peter. Auschun caught Dwight’s eye and waved him over. “I assume, since we had such a feast last night, that you were also successful in obtaining our fuel?”
 
Dwight nodded, but looked concerned. “We have three thousand liters, sir, but the cost was extremely high. The conversion from our currency to Gak prices is not favourable. We now have insufficient cash to purchase the fuel it would take to drive the truck to the fuel depot and return.”
 
“Thank you, Tactical Officer. Please, lend your assistance to the repairs.”
 
Auschun pulled out a cigarette and walked into the morning sun as he lit it. This was troubling. His best estimates had been that their funds would purchase three times that amount of fuel, even allowing for inflation. Obviously, his grasp of Gak economics was flawed. The fuel Dwight had obtained would fill the tank only one and a half times, plus whatever was left over from their last mission, which was little enough. Were he to stay close to this location, he could engage in four, perhaps five more strikes before being immobilized, but such a consistent pattern would surely hurry the day that the Gaks found him. Were he, instead, to continue ranging far afield to intercept targets, it wasn’t certain he’d have the fuel for two missions.
 
He took a deep drag, and pondered, then decided that such pondering was futile. The tank would be under repair for two days. Much could happen in two days. Perhaps the Gaks would find them. Perhaps the Gaks would give up and go home. Perhaps the Gaks would reroute all of their convoys to avoid the area. Perhaps his own people would return in force. One could not make decisions easily with so many unknowns.
 
One decision he could revisit, though, was that of taking a day to fabricate spare links. With so little fuel available, it seemed unlikely they would travel far enough to need replacements.
 
“Tactical Officer,” he called as he strode into the warehouse.
 
A muffled “Sir” came from beneath the tank.
 
Auschun knelt at the front of the tank, bending to look underneath. Dwight was there, using a crowbar to loosen one of the damaged links. “Our intelligence from the Gaks is limited, yes?”
 
“They post the departures only forty-eight hours in advance, Commander.”
 
“In your estimation, do we need to continue monitoring their movements while we are immobile?”
 
“The risk of discovery is small, but present, Commander. I would advise we wait until the tank is operational.”
 
“Very well.” Auschun continued walking, heading nowhere in particular. The rationing of ammunition would serve no further purpose; he would allow Deila to demonstrate her skill on entire convoys from now on. Concealment became a short-term objective rather than a long-term one; they need not retreat to refuges, nor pass up targets of opportunity. They would move from one assault point to the next, camp and wait, decimate the convoy, and continue. If the Gaks found them, they would fight. If, rather, they exhausted their resources, they would set fire to the tank and begin the long walk home. Either way, it seemed this mission was coming to a close.
 
Auschun shook his head. Again, he was making plans for circumstances that may well never happen. Best to focus on today and tomorrow, getting the tank operational. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers to extinguish it, carefully grinding the fallen cherry into the ground with his boot, then returning the unsmoked portion to the nearly-empty pack in his pocket. “Maria,” he called, striding back to the tank, “how may I assist?”
 
Replacing a link in a tank tread is an awful job. The links are heavy, sharp-edged, unforgiving puzzle pieces of steel. They’re caked with grease and dirt; there are shards of rock, wood, even glass wedged in the gaps between them. Damaged edges produce steel splinters. The pins that hold them together are driven in under pressure and are devilishly tight, requiring much pounding and prying and straining to loosen and remove. All of this must be done while reaching into terribly confined spaces, sometimes lying underneath the tank, sometimes trying to squeeze between the tread and the body. And the tank itself must be nudged forward and backwards in tiny increments to position the damaged links just so, in spots where they are not under tension. Done in a garage, with the proper tools and proper hydraulic supports, it would be an awful job. Done in the field, with hammers and crowbars, it was brutal.
 
Still, two days later, with the crew all nursing various sprains, bruises, and in desperate need of showers, the job was nearly done. Only one link remained, so Auschun sent Dwight to access the Gak’s schedule and begin planning their next attack. He was using a hammer and dowel to drive a pin home when Dwight erupted from the hatch in excitement.
 
“Commander! Commander! We are favored of the gods!”
 
Auschun rose from his knees, handing the hammer to Peter. “Show me.”
 
He followed Dwight into the tank and looked over his shoulder at the display Dwight was using to surf the web and read the community webpage where the Gaks so thoughtfully posted their information.
 
“See, Commander, there is a convoy leaving tomorrow afternoon. It will pass an excellent point of attack approximately one hundred twenty kilometers to our northeast as the sun is setting. We can easily move there tonight, camp tomorrow, and attack.”
 
“This is good, Dwight, but not the miracle I expected. You seem as thrilled as a young child with a new toy!”
 
“Look, Commander,” said Dwight, vibrating with excitement. “Unlike the others we have attacked, this convoy is assembling on the actual football field. We can observe it using their webcams.” Dwight clicked the link. There, lining up in the middle of the former field of play were several trucks, a pair of APCs, and a fuel tanker. “Fuel, commander! Fuel! If we can seize that truck…”
 
“...our mission can continue!” finished Auschun. He raised his head to the open hatch. “Gunnery Officer! Report at once!”
 
There was a sound of frantic scrambling from beneath the tank, followed by feet clamoring over the hull. Deila dropped in.
 
“Sir!”
 
“Deila, observe. We may have an opportunity here. Can you disable that truck without damaging the cargo?”
 
“An armor piercing round through the engine block will certainly disable it. The vehicle may or may not catch fire. If it does not, the cargo will be fine.”
 
“Your best estimation, gunnery officer?”
 
“It is a near-certainty that I can disable the vehicle. The chance of fire, though, may be one in three.”
 
Auschun nodded. “And can you destroy the remainder of the vehicles without damaging the tanker further?”
 
“Most assuredly, Commander,” said Deila with relish, her teeth flashing in a fierce smile. “Most assuredly!”
 
“Excellent. Return to the repairs, and inform the others that we roll out as soon as the sky is dark.”


 

Mahalo (thank you) for reading; I hope you enjoyed! This story is part of a series. Information on the series, and links to the other stories, can be found here.

Edited October 17, 2018 by Hippin_in_Hawaii

[Blackdrakon30 2,943]

- No edits (Everything looks good as far as I can see)

 

Approved

 

Hey, great job! The story is looking pretty classy, and your choices with descriptions were very prudent. The dialogue felt pretty nice too, making an all-around good addition to your Tankiverse fanfictions. Well done!

[GrandExecutioner 1,403]

I like where this story is heading :D

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

I like where this story is heading :D

Clearly, to be a shining example of peaceful conflict resolution and harmonious co-existence, right?

[GrandExecutioner 1,403]

Clearly, to be a shining example of peaceful conflict resolution and harmonious co-existence, right?

Oh of course. Goes without saying.

[tweezers 1,034]

I have this weird gut feeling that our comrades with the tank are being set up.

 

That, or I ate something funny for lunch. 

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

I have this weird gut feeling that our comrades with the tank are being set up.

 

That, or I ate something funny for lunch. 

You can find out just as soon as today's post gets approved!

 

:rolleyes:

 

See what I did there? Using your own anticipation as motivation? See, it's funny cause... oh nevermind!