Armor Up! - (An Eighty Six Fan Fiction)

-- Touchdown--

Chapter 1

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Revised

As the tank rapidly descended, the crew felt weightless as it violently shook. Their seatbelts were the only thing that prevented them from hitting their heads and being thrown around inside the tank as they braced themselves for the inevitable impact. Frantically trying to piece together what was happening, they clung to anything in reach, bracing for impact. The deafening screech of twisting metal and the clang of metallic objects banging together, made it hard to think. The ominous sounds only intensified the crew's panic, and the thought that their fate was sealed inside an armored coffin.

Vibrations and tremors made it nearly impossible to communicate effectively as all attempts at conversation with his crew or other teams on their frequency were met with panicked, garbled and unclear responses. Overall communication was ineffective, he could only hope that everyone in this mess with him would pull through. It suddenly stopped as if nothing had occurred. The violent rumbling, metal creaking, and feeling of weightlessness had all dissipated and he felt no physical harm, save for a minor concussion. An unexpected and underwhelming aftermath of a traumatic experience.

Ugh! My head hurts like hell. I'm still alive but I don't know if that's a good thing or not. Looks like they made it too, alive hopefully.

He groaned and rubbed his temple in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing headache. He took a moment to compose himself, then called out to his crew "Check. Check. Is everybody still in one piece?" They soon gave their responses and brought him a sense of relief, as they reassured him that they were all fine and with minimal injuries.

Peering through his periscopes he took in the sight of the desolate remains of a town square similar to those in Europe. What used to be cafes, shops, and homes were now abandoned and in ruins around them. The ground littered with sandbags with the remnants of improvised, haphazardly put-up fortifications stood next to the charred wreckages of military vehicles. Twisted and trampled over barbed wire lined the streets alongside discarded and rusted weapons lay forgotten. A valiant, yet ultimately unsuccessful, efforts of whoever the defending forces in their final stand.

Where are we now? Somewhere in Europe or Russia, maybe? But isn't that an FAL on the ground, no one in NATO uses that anymore, at least to my knowledge and the Russians uses the AK-12, it could be some militiamen, but... about that.

A tattered flag still flew high on a pole, its colors faded and dull, likely a lonely symbol of the past this place once had. But there was no one left to admire it, not even the remains of those who had fallen. Although poetic, Liam didn't know what country that flag represented and couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the lack of any trace of those who had once called this place home and those that fought for it.

An unknown country that has a semblance of a military can't just exist in Europe without anyone knowing, yet here we are taken by a sinkhole that shouldn't be possible... Liam racked his brain, but his thoughts kept going in circles.

"What in the world did we get ourselves into this time?" Murmured Sergeant Vivy Moore as she reorientated the turret to face front. Known for her methodical and meticulous approach to her role as the tank's gunner, she was both admired and feared by soldiers who found her cold demeanor somewhat intimidating yet has a hidden caring side she doesn't show often.

The tank's loader, Specialist Glenn Shaw gave the ammunition compartments and mechanical components a quick check for damages and, finding none, peered into his periscopes. His passion for cars in his childhood had fueled his interest in tank maintenance, and volunteered during his free time to assist the battalion mechanics. "Why are we in town? Shouldn't we have crossed the river by now, and I wake up and everybody was panicking as if we were falling? What happened when I was asleep?