The Rusted Epoch

Chapter 4

As the smoke cleared and the fading sounds of battle drifted into the distance, Anders and his men retreated from the open field to a makeshift camp just behind the ridge. They'd won a brutal victory, but the cost weighed on each of them, and for a time, the group sat in a hushed silence. Grim Reaper Mk. I stood watch nearby, a silent guardian now that the adrenaline of battle had subsided.

Corporal Hurst broke the silence, glancing up from his battered canteen. "If we're ever to see home again, we need to hit them where it hurts." He nodded to himself, conviction hardening his voice. "Berlin. Their capital. Take the fight right to their doorstep."

Private Mason shook his head, letting out a weary chuckle. "Berlin? Hurst, you're mad. We don't have the men or firepower to make it a block in that city, let alone the capital. No, what we need is something with some teeth." He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the shattered remains of Die Brechmaschine, lying scattered over the field. "There's a monster out there that we managed to bring down. And it got me thinking—what if we rebuilt it? Gave it legs for better movement, maybe tweaked its AI so it actually fought for us instead of against us."

Anders raised an eyebrow at this. "Rebuild it? The thing nearly killed us all."

Mason shrugged. "Sure, but look what it could do in the right hands. Imagine if it was marching toward Berlin with the Union Jack painted on its chest instead of that Iron Cross."

Another voice piped up from the shadows—it was Private Fallon, always the quiet one, but with a keen mind for the oddest ideas. "Why don't we just use its head?" he suggested. His gaze shifted toward the still-smoking helmet, cracked but mostly intact. "I mean, it had to be tracking us somehow, right? If we reverse-engineered the head, we might get intel on where the rest of the German forces are. We could track them right back to their own strongholds."

The men mulled over this, each idea stirring a different kind of excitement and trepidation. Hurst was still stuck on Berlin, eyes fixed with a zeal bordering on madness, while Mason had taken to studying the wreckage of Die Brechmaschine, fingers tracing lines through the dirt as he envisioned upgrades and modifications. Fallon, ever cautious, seemed lost in thought, eyeing the broken helmet as though it might reveal secrets of its own if he stared hard enough.

Anders stood up, glancing between the three of them. Each plan had its risks, but one held a spark of possibility that none of them could ignore. They needed an advantage, something powerful and relentless enough to turn the tide in their favor, to help push the German forces back. He'd seen Die Brechmaschine in action—seen its raw, unyielding power. If he could harness that, wield it against the enemy, it might just give them the edge they needed.

"We're not marching on Berlin, and we're not scavengers," Anders finally said, his voice steady. "But Mason's right about one thing: Die Brechmaschine could be worth more to us than we realize." He paused, casting a long look over the remains, charred and broken but brimming with potential. "If we can rebuild it, reprogram it, and arm it with the right upgrades, then maybe we'll have a weapon that can do more than defend us. It could change the course of this war."

The men nodded slowly, seeing the idea take root in Anders' mind as he spoke. It wasn't just a machine—it could become a symbol, a rallying force. A repurposed titan fighting on behalf of those it had once terrorized.

"But how would we manage that?" Hurst asked, doubt creeping into his voice. "The Germans built that beast to withstand artillery fire, to hunt us down without mercy. Rebuilding it won't be easy, let alone getting it to fight for us."

Mason clapped him on the shoulder. "We've got something the Germans don't have—Grim Reaper Mk. I, and the best minds in the Royal Mechanical Engineering Corps." He looked back at Anders, a flicker of excitement in his eyes. "We can use Grim Reaper to move the parts, salvage what we need, and RMEC can handle the rest. With some luck, we'll make a machine even the Kaiser's generals will fear."

Anders nodded, warming to the plan. "We'll replace its treads with articulated legs for better mobility, equip it with weaponry that suits our strategy. As for its AI..." He hesitated, remembering how the machine had turned on them with cold, mechanical purpose. "We'll reprogram it from scratch, make it recognize British uniforms as allies. It'll need to be smarter, able to navigate unpredictable terrain."

Fallon chipped in, his gaze still fixed on the helmet. "And if we incorporate parts of its head, we might be able to patch into its tracking systems. We'd know where the enemy's moving, what they're planning."

The idea was growing rapidly, excitement stirring as they fleshed out the details. It wasn't a perfect plan—far from it—but it offered them a chance, a glimmer of hope in a war that had taken nearly everything from them.

"Alright," Anders said, finally sealing the decision. "We're taking Die Brechmaschine's remains with us. Corporal Hurst, you'll arrange a small team to start salvaging the parts. Private Mason, get in touch with RMEC—they'll need every bit of intel we can gather to make this work."

The men saluted, invigorated by their new purpose. Grim Reaper Mk. I remained silent as they worked, a grim witness to the beginning of a bold and dangerous endeavor. Yet as Anders looked out over the field, he felt a sense of resolve settle over him. They were no longer merely surviving; they were preparing to strike back.

This war had taken so much, but if they could see this project through, they might just take a piece of it back.