Leuven, European Federation, December 2035

  Ammon sat at the corner table of the train station café, a quiet observer amidst the hustle of morning commuters. The faint hum of the crowd and the distant clink of coffee mugs created a rhythmic backdrop that seemed to soothe the edges of his thoughts. Steam rose gently from his coffee, curling in delicate tendrils against the cool air—a contrast to the bustling energy of the station. There was an air of quiet contemplation around him, a man whose past was woven with the weight of history, a history few could fully understand. Dressed in a conservative, timeless manner, he looked much older than his years, his face lined with the quiet wisdom of experiences both painful and profound.

  Ammon El Nasser had only left his native Egypt twice. The first time was just last week, when he traveled to Leuven to visit his daughter, who was studying for her PhD at the prestigious University of Leuven. The second time was many years ago, when he, along with his comrades from Egypt’s 12th Brigade, found themselves caught in the brutal chaos of the Thrace Plateau.

  He stirred his coffee slowly, as his mind drifted back to a time long past.

  “The coast was only thirty kilometers away,” he muttered to himself, as though tracing an old, familiar map in his head. “In the months following Operation Ramadan, the mountains that divided Bulgaria fell first. Then Bourgas, followed by the rest of Bulgaria. Soon, Kirklareli—the largest town on the Turkish side—was evacuated, overrun by Crab forces. A few weeks later, they were poised to spill into the Marmara Sea, Greece, and beyond—the Aegean, the Mediterranean just beneath it. Safe to say, it was a rout.”

  He paused, staring at the surface of his coffee as the memories swirled like the steam rising from his cup.

  “Corlu was north of us,” he continued quietly, “just above the Marmara, west of Istanbul. If it fell, nukes were back on the table, whether we were there or not. The world didn’t care about 5,000 Egyptian soldiers. We were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, part of a panicked retreat. The Turks and Greeks held strong, but the rest of the world wasn’t interested in wasting men if they could just end it in a week or two with a tactical nuke.”

  So there we were. Caught between the hammer and the anvil. The special forces had spent weeks behind enemy lines, tracking the Beetles, learning where they pastured at night. Two nights before, they’d coordinated twelve airstrikes, wiping out a hundred or so of them in the Thrace salient. We’d used most of our heavy ordinance on those. Now, a million men were waiting to push into the Thrace Plateau, to drive the Crabs back to the Balkans, to the mountains dividing Bulgaria from Turkey. The plan made sense. Our tanks and infantry could advance with relative peace of mind, knowing most of the Beetles were out of the equation. Light infantry and special forces were securing the mountains to stop the southern flow, with the help of jets and naval support. But between the Beetles being neutralized and the main offensive kicking off, Corlu fell. It was an important town—strategically placed on the highways—and just thirty kilometers from the Marmara Sea.”

  Ammon paused for a moment, his eyes distant.

  “We had a quarter of a million men waiting just east of it, north of it another quarter about to be flanked. And we were cut off from the south, trapped. An entire armoured battalion. We received our orders early in the morning. Instead of pushing east to break back into friendly lines, we were to push north, along the highway, all the way to Corlu. We were to attack from the west, while our allies were pushing east. Meanwhile, we had to hold off the Crabs who were coming from the west, trying to cut us off from behind. A cluster fuck as the Americans called it. Damn near had to drag my loader by the ear onto to the tank. He was one of the kids who weren't necessarily happy that they felt as if they were wasting their lives away. I was barely older than him with a second kid on the way. Inside our M60 my gunner was praying, hand palms open he was reciting a prayer as I checked my driver was on his seat.

  Our platoon was lined up on gas station parking we were at. Enough time for my gunner to finish his prayer. Saw him press his hands on his face.

  "God's on our side today Mohammed?" I asked.

  "Always." The kid responded.

  I looked back at my loader, face red with anger as he put on his crew helmet. Didn't say anything.

  "Crew report!" I asked on the microphone.

  "Driver ready!" Tarek upfront said into the intercom.

  "Gunner ready" Mohammed answered as he checked his optic again.

  "......"

  I looked at my loader, "Loader ready" Omar said as he catched my stare.

  "We got five minutes before take off, if you want to recite a prayer or smoke a cigarette its now or never. We're about to see heavy fighting." I let out.

  Five minutes on the clock my radio blared, our platoon commander gave us the order. We were to open the ball and be the first one in the column north.

  "Yallah" I said over the intercom and the driver followed the tank infront of us.

  Took us about twenty minutes before the first potshots hit us. I was outside just my helmet and eyes looking out as I saw the muzzle flash of a blaster trying to target the lead tank.

  "Gunner, coax, 10 o'clock 400 meters, infantry." gunner spinned his turret on my command. The lead tank hadn't seen it despite being near the receiving end of the blaster shots.

  I saw the two crabs through my binoculars, one fired its blaster as the other hit his with a rock as if trying to get it to work.

  "On!"

  "Fire when ready" I said, he fired his coaxial 7.62 machine gun at them. The first burst missed, the second was right on target. The one firing fell down, the one next to it collapsed but seemed to kick in the air in agony.

  "Target stopped, gunner scan left."

  Just as I said it I saw our scouts overtaking us from the left. What had taken them so long is beyond me. They were busy screening our west when the order came but I suspect they didn't mind missing that battle. To be honest I wouldn't want to be the bait either. Their BRDM scout cars just rushed past us and took position in the lead. Four of them just went pedal to the metal and drove about 200 meters infront of the lead tank infront of us. Don't even know how long it was after that, but once the city and the express way interchange to its west was in our sights, our scout cars got lit up. Left, front and right they were blasted to smithereens. Do they were too lightly armored and you'd just have some blaster rounds cut right through them. Not ignite. And if it didn't hit anything important the scouts just continued driving.

  "Gunner, HE 2o'clock. Gas station, 300 meters, infantry." Mohammed spun the turret around, missed the gas station before turning the turret slightly again to have it in its sight. Inside a gas station there were six or so crabs firing at the scout cars.

  "On!" he yelled.

  "Fire!" I yelled and he fired an HE shell at it.

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  From outside with just my helmets and eyes peaking out I saw the shockwave, the dust move as the shell flew right at the building and then the explosion. Must have turned all of them inside into shredded meat.

  Quickly scanned for another target as Mohammed turned the turret back to the left. We were driving at 10km an hour at best. Just fast enough to let us aim and shoot normally. But I dreaded the time the crabs would be focused on us once they were done with the scouts.

  "Target!" I yelled as I saw the crabs mess with their battery. Those carts we called them. They used them allot at the beginning of the war, but they were rare until operation ramadan. Just tubes stacked on a cart that fired high explosive blasters that fired in volley. I panicked as I saw them. The lead tank was obvious to it. They hadn't fired their cannon once.

  "Gunner, HE, 11 O'clock, 300 meters, Enemy AT!" I yelled like a madman. As Mohammed put his turret on it, it fired a volley at the lead tank. Out of the four rockets only one hit, shredding the right tracks and the frontal hull. As the other rockets shredded the part of the high way the lead tank was on the crabs manning the cart prepared for another volley.

  "On!" Mohammed yelled.

  "Fire!" I answered, Mohammed didn't even let me finish the word that he fired his HE round at it. The thing erupted, its blasters firing into the air as its ammunition seemed to cook off.

  "Hahahah they're burning!" Mohammed laughed. I was too busy looking at the lead tank. He had done well not to smoke, if he had the entire column would have been blinded and the crabs would just have had to fire blindly at the highway.

  "Saw the commander and gunner exit, followed by the loader. Dazed as they tried their best to safely get off from the turret. A crew man started vomiting, probably because of the over pressure before being dragged back to cover by another crewman.

  Just had enough time for a BMP1 to rush upfront, let them in and then reverse back full speed as we had tanks left and right firing down to the interchange and city.

  "Company press on!" our commander yelled on the radio, barely had time to tell Tarek to drive that one of the tanks overtook us and took the lead.

  We fired at the crabs, the carts. Atleast they didn't have any crabs that what went through my mind.

  We were under the interchange, firing like mad men left and right at the crabs who had time to prepare positions. I had closed my hatch as I tried to coordinate as best as I could through the periscopes.

  "3_2 scratch our back!" The tank infront of us yelled out. Realized what happened as I saw the crab on top of the turret trying to break its way in. Mohammed didn't need to be told, his turret already aimed at it before he let out multiple burst of his coax machine gun. It was shredded by it before collapsing and falling down. Its body meeting our tracks as we pushed forward. I saw the flash of the blaster just in time before it hit the tank infront of us. Mohammed fired his coax at the crabs as I saw the exterior fuel tank erupt in flames. It was for a reason the fuel was outside, the tank and the crew inside were safe do I can't imagine the heat being pleasant. Do they made the mistake of traversing their turret to the right where the blaster hit had came from. It made flaming fuel drip down into the engine air intake and the engine just seemed to die. They were immobolized.

  "3_1 is knocked out! Commander send the infantry!" I yelled on the radio. It wasn't my call to make. But our tanks had done their job of being the armored fist that broke the enemies defences, it was now to the infantry to come in and take care of the crabs that were left. Hiding in spots we couldn't foresee.

  "Standbye, BMP's are on their way just hold until the infantry arrive."

  So we held. Our m60 taking shot after shot from their blasters. Gladly they couldn't take us out frontally. And we had enough ammo to scare them away. We had our mortars fall left and right suppressing the crabs even more. They ended just in time as the infantry arrived. They were even more scared than us. I saw their faces through the periscope. Some not old enough to shave carrying those old AK's. Took them about fifteen minutes to clear the interchange. With heavy losses. But even that was to plan. The commanders knew what units to lose and which would replace them when time came to wait for the crabs to counterattack from the west and from the city.

  But there was no replacing us. Our surviving tanks took position on the interchange. On the overpasses or under those. I was back out. Cigarette in one hand and binoculars on the other as I watched the city. Flicked my cigarette away and closed my hatch just in time right after the first blasters from the city arrived.

  "You have eyes Mohammed?" I asked as I turned the periscope in a bid to see where the shots were coming from. The infantry, in their infinite wisdom hadn't captured the exit of the city. If they had we would have had a strong point inside of the city. Yes the fighting would have been brutal and room to room. But we wouldn't be outside left to dry and be picked off one by one. Had the crabs been smart they would just have had to do that. Instead they started those suicidal charges again. Just pushing out from the west. One crab would sprint as his friend would fire at us. Then he'd stop and the one who was sprinting would take over the shooting as he sprinted.

  "Mohammed, fire at will!" I yelled as I swung my hatch open, the cool air rushing in, mixing with the heat of the battlefield. The crabs were scattered across the fields and highway between our overpass and the city, their hulking forms moving with surprising speed. There were enough targets for Mohammed to pick and choose from, but I wasn’t about to just sit back and watch. I pulled the bolt back on my M2, the familiar click of the action sending a surge of adrenaline through me.

  Mohammed was already on it, his coaxial 7.62mm spinning to life as he targeted the crabs closest to us. The bursts of gunfire rang out, and I could see through my optics as one of the crabs stumbled, its massive legs crumpling beneath it. Another one was hit square in the chest and collapsed, twitching in the dirt. The crabs weren't even slowing down. They just kept coming.

  I aimed the M2 at the closest crab, a beast about 200 meters out, lumbering across the open field. I squeezed the trigger, and the heavy .50 caliber rounds screamed out, chewing up the ground in front of it. The first shot missed by a few meters, but the second hit its leg, tearing through the thick exoskeleton. The crab let out a shrill noise, its leg buckling as it fell to the side, twitching in agony as it grabbed ah old of its missing leg.

  Mohammed was in a rhythm now, his coax firing steadily, rounds hitting targets with precision. I shifted my fire, targeting another crab further down the highway. It was a smaller one, but still a threat. I squeezed the trigger again, the M2 kicking against me with each burst. The rounds slammed into the crab's torso, and it exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel, its blaster firing wildly as it fell.

  "Gunner, heat, 3 o'clock, 400 meters, that fucking heap of garbage—there’s four crabs behind it!" I yelled, my eyes locked on the mound of dirt and debris ahead. The crabs were lurking just beyond it, partially exposed, moving between the cover.

  I watched as he tracked the target, the turret moving smoothly under his command. The crabs had no idea we were zeroing in on them. I could make out the vague shapes of their massive bodies huddled behind the heap, their heads popping in and out of cover, scanning the battlefield for threats.

  "On!" Mohammed acknowledged, his voice calm as he adjusted his aim.

  "Fire!" I ordered.

  Mohammed's hand moved swiftly, his finger tightening on the trigger. The high explosive anti-tank shell left the barrel with a sharp crack, a moment of silence following before the round impacted with a deafening explosion. The heap of garbage and dirt erupted in a ball of fire and shrapnel, the crabs caught in the blast of the fragments penetrating the heap and coming out on the other side of it. One, dazed and hurt ran away a few seconds later. Cut him down with my M2. The M2 clicked and I realized I was out. Removed the ammunition box and threw it 'downstairs' before I took a spare ammunition box. I pulled back the slide handle and opened the receiver before putting down the 50 cal ammunition belt on it. Then I started shooting again. On and on we went. It got so dire that we were maybe minutes away from being rotated back to rearm. But luckily it didn't come to that.

  "Everyone hold your fire, troops coming in from the city, hold your fire!" Our commander's voice crackled over the radio, urgent and sharp. I didn't realize how out of breath I was until then, the tension in my chest easing just a bit. I blinked, disbelief clouding my thoughts as I watched the Iranian T-72s rolling out of the city. Their turrets were turned backward, and atop each tank, a red flag fluttered like some strange signal. As if we could mistake their human tanks for the alien crabs we had been fighting for months. Some of the vehicles were scarred, their sides marked with the chaotic damage of whatever had gone down inside the city.

  "Gunner, traverse left," I ordered, my voice steady but carrying the weight of the moment. I pulled out my pack of cigarettes, still feeling the shock of it all as I watched the column of armor rumble past us.

  Mohammed did as ordered, turning the turret to the left, the barrel shifting slowly as the tanks made their way westward. The sound of the engines was almost deafening, but it was a different kind of noise now—one of relief.

  Then, almost as if to punctuate the change, Mohammed opened his hatch and popped out, his face breaking into a grin. He held out his hand, and I passed him a cigarette. "It's a wrap," he said quietly, as we both took off our helmets and stared westward. The line of Iranian and Turkish armored vehicles stretched far beyond what I could see, their engines a steady, reassuring hum in the air.

  For the first time since the war began, I felt a strange sense of peace. I had my duties to attend to, sure—log the ammo usage, check the fuel levels, make sure everything was in order—but for now, none of that mattered.

  As those two brigades rolled past us, heading west, I knew something had changed.