The tank pounced forward, rocks and corroded pipes doing little to slow its pace as the 60-ton beast crunched, pushed and scattered the remnants behind it. The resistance was further negated by the torsion bar as the trundle of the wheels stretched the metal treads taut. The treads were firmly driven into the ground as they were secured by the track drive sprocket. The mechanical beast propelled itself forward, swerving to avoid the water filled holes that had been hollowed out from decades of acidic water dripping from the pipes. Despite the occasional spray and wash of water, dirty bodily secretions had begun to cover the T-55’s treads from the occasional pop and squeak from the rats that had skittered in front of the tank’s mad drive through the cramped tunnels. A long silence enveloped the inside of the tank, each man being in a trance from being so focused on their respective tasks.

  The occasional tear in the masonry along the walls was another casualty from the tank’s swerving as it turned a corner, pulling a few loose bricks to the ground as it scraped across the wet surface. Its treads spun on the wet surface, furiously trying to gain a grip on the ground as Ivan kicked down the gas pedal. A special quirk of the T-55 was that the steering system used to beat up the driver because he was fighting the engine every time he wanted to turn. It was hard, exhausting work to drive that thing, despite Doc’s tweaks. Ivan leaned in and pulled the driving levers before abruptly standing on the breaks. Vodko braced for impact, being wedged tight into his cramped position, grabbed the ‘oh-shit’ handle that was fitted to each position for the crew to hold on to during firing so the breech didn't rip someone's arm off or otherwise injure them. The long silence that enveloped the inside of the tank was broken when Doc spoke up.

  “Why did we stop? What’s happening?” Doc asked, confused as Vodko leaned forward and looked into the periscope.

  Half of the walkway had crumbled, eroded from the steady onslaught of the brown acidic water that flowed from the irregularly placed tubes. The tubes that had been part of a well planned structure of old built to allow a calm toot atop the porcelain throne had been replaced by various hues of orange-red rust.

  “Is no worry, is just simple interior decorating. Da?” Ivan replied as he shifted the tank in reverse and backed up, turning the tank as he did so.

  “What?” Doc asked, confused.

  “Shortcut.” Vodko clarified.

  “Brace for impact!” Ivan yelled out.

  Doc didn’t hesitate to grab the handle assigned to the loader’s position this time. Ivan shifted the tank back into gear and kicked the gas. The T-55 tank careened into and through the wall as if it had been shot through a cannon. Bricks, masonry and mortar rolled across the turret as it plowed a larger walkway through the wall. The tank’s treads slid over the slightly wet surface before regaining traction and continued down the passage. As they moved forwards, the tank bumped up into the air, slamming the tank barrel into the ceiling as a large rock was partly crushed into sand. The tank slammed into the ground and kept running.

  “Another wall!” Vodko exclaimed as he and Doc hugged their handles, bracing for the collision with the horizontal wall that marked a hypothetical dead end.

  The T-55 tank burst through the wall and scattered mortar and bricks into the open hall as if they were buckshot fired from a shotgun. Ivan pressed the brakes as the tank began rolling over the train tracks on the ground at a slower speed.

  “I’m sorry to sound like a broken record, but what is this place?” Doc blurted out as he viewed the tiny crt screen that showed the rear view.

  “Underground railroad, or would’ve been” Vodko replied.

  “They abandoned it before it was completed and then we took it over.” Ivan said.

  “Why was the project abandoned?” Doc asked as the station looked to be largely completed.

  “Red Zone expansion, import of kebab and jamal, murders, no hot meal. The usual,” Ivan replied.

  Doc leaned over a box that had previously been wedged into already cramped loading space and stretched a hand into Ivan’s direction and spoke.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “We need to figure out where we are. Let me have a look at that map.”

  Knowing that he was the only one with enough room to unfurl the map into something readable, Ivan rummaged through a pocket before tossing the paper brick in Doc’s general direction. Doc leaned in to catch it, but it bounced out of his hands and landed on the floor.

  Doc kneeled down next to the box and picked up the paper brick map. As he was supporting himself up to his seat, he noticed the symbol on the box that he had seen earlier on the way down to the briefing.

  “By the way, why did we bring that box with us?”

  “Got a call, told us to bring it along,” Ivan replied as Doc unfurled the map.

  “The electronic voice?”

  “Da.”

  “Huh. Okay,” Doc said with a bemused expression as his head looked up and down the map, trying to figure out where they were now. “Wait, aren’t we off course?”

  “We should’ve made a turn at about here.. Then it’s just straight ahead and we’re back on schedule,” Doc muttered to himself before speaking up. “So to get back according to plan, I think we need to go down this path..”

  “Vodko, is the path to the west clear?”

  “West?” Vodko looked into the periscope, “No, it’s blocked off.”

  “By bricks?”

  “No, concrete.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend ramming the tank through concrete, if it’s done recently, it’s probably reinforced with steel.” Doc muttered as he folded the map back into a brick, carefully handed it back to Ivan and sat thinking for a few minutes in complete silence as the Tank turned around.

  “Doktor!” Ivan cheerfully shouted before he picked up a red-labeled AMP39A1 tank shell from the floor and threw it into Doc’s direction.

  Doc reflexively bent his whole body forwards to avoid dropping it on the floor as he caught the shell in a nervous hug.

  “H-Hey, be careful with that. It’s not a normal shell, it’s far more unstable-” Doc replied in a flustered manner before regaining his cool and realizing that Ivan was gesturing for him to load the shell into the breech.

  The shell clanked as Doc pushed it in, then pushed the breech block back up into place, holding it there until it registered with a click. Doc pulled a lever, A whirring sound followed, a darkened lamp lit up indicating that the breech was properly closed and secured. Doc signaled back to Ivan with a thumbs up. Ivan nodded and stuck his fist to the right, putting his fist into view of Vodko below in the cramped space and gestured for him to fire by forming a finger gun. Vodko leaned forwards to reach the aiming controls and started to tilt the cannon upwards, aiming at the wall in front of them.

  “Firing in three, two, one..” Vodko counted with a calm expression.

  “Knock knock, is tax collector!” Ivan yelled as the firing machinery began to come to life in full.

  Thick blue arcs of lightning shot out of the two welded on generators fitted to the turret and spun towards and around the barrel. A thunderous retort made the whole world shake in an instant as the breech block punched backward— before a colossal shell impacted the dirt outside. The power of the recoil jolted the barrel of the tank’s cannon upwards, with the added suspension screaming with a mechanical whine from the mistreatment. The edge of the barrel glowed red hot. Little remained of the concrete wall as black smoke blossomed in the air and obscured their vision. The barrel pulsed as its energies dissipated and then it slowly quieted as its systems fell into dormancy. Vodko’s mouth twitched as he smiled and wiped at his face with his sleeves when the smoke finally cleared.

  Ivan's jaw dropped and he whispered, "It can sing, this beast can sing?" before breaking out in hearty bear-like laughter.

  "I have moved on beyond panic, beyond hysteria, into the gray misty indifference of complete shutdown of all but vital functions of my brain. I am so stressed I am completely calm," Doc muttered as he massaged the bridge of his nose, exhaled and then turned a dial of the hardline array, trying to listen to the right frequency.

  "Also, this turret is not supposed to vibrate."

  The hardline array twitched. Still searching, no source. Sensors caught a scream. A heartbeat pulsed through the static. Doc hurriedly put on his glasses again.

  “I got something!”

  “Enemy?” Ivan turned to face Doc with a gleeful smile.

  “No, it’s something else. Even then, we can’t fire the gun again until the generators have cooled down.”

  “How long until we can fire again?” Ivan asked.

  Doc tapped on the keyboard, the tiny screen flashed and after leaning forwards, he replied,

  “Four minutes and 48 seconds to avoid a critical meltdown upon firing.”