At 4 AM, on the border between Leithanien and Siracusa, a cold fog blanketed the area.
In the mist, hundreds of steel behemoths lay in wait.
A young tank crewman named Leon leaned against the track of his Tiger I tank, trying to perk himself up with a sip from his canteen.
He could feel the faint tremor from the dozens-of-tons war machine idling beneath him.
This was his first real combat.
During training, he had driven this beast countless times in mock battles and obliterated targets on the range with its main gun.
But that was completely different from now.
The tension of what they called "war" gripped everyone's heart tightly.
"Nervous, kid?"
A veteran slapped his helmet.
"N-no... no, sir."
Leon straightened his back.
The veteran grinned, revealing teeth yellowed by tobacco.
"Don't worry. The ones who should be nervous are those Siracusan scum still dreaming in their beds."
He jerked his chin toward the front.
Several kilometers ahead was a Siracusan border outpost.
According to intelligence, a company of troops was stationed there, affiliated with the local Grimaldi family.
They called it a company, but they were really just family private soldiers, not a proper army.
Equipped with outdated crossbows and a few small-caliber mortars, their only defenses were a wooden fence and a few sandbag arrow rests.
In the war games at the Imperial Military Academy, the theoretical hold time for this outpost was set at "no more than five minutes."
High above them in the pre-dawn sky, dozens of gray-white Stuka dive bombers glided through the darkness.
Inside the command post, General Taylor stood with arms crossed before the sand table.
The communications officer's voice rang out continuously, reporting unit positions.
"1st and 2nd Armored Divisions, all units in position."
"1st Dive Bomber Wing, arrived in designated airspace."
"Special Action Team, ready."
Taylor glanced at the clock on the wall. The second hand ticked inexorably toward the scheduled attack time.
He picked up the communicator.
"This is Taylor. Execute 'Blitzkrieg' plan."
The moment the order was given, the earth began to rumble.
...
Siracusa, Grimaldi family outpost.
Sentinel Luca yawned, leaning on a sandbag with his companion playing a Siracusan card game.
He had lost down to his underwear and was cursing his companion for cheating.
For them, border duty was a thankless job—little profit and far from city luxuries.
The so-called enemy Leithanien was, in their mouths, just a bunch of "art-playing" types, not worth mentioning.
"Damn it, another crap hand!"
Luca slammed his cards down.
"I'm done! The captain's patrol will dock us half a month's pay if he catches us gambling."
"What're you scared of?"
His companion nonchalantly picked up the cards.
"Captain's probably snoring away with that girl from the city. He won't bother with us."
Just then, a strange screech came from above.
"What sound is that?"
Luca looked up puzzled at the sky.
His companion also raised his head, seeing small black dots rapidly enlarging, the screech growing ear-piercing.
Siracusans had never heard this sound—the unique wail of Stuka bombers in flight.
"W-what is that?"
"...A flying machine?"
They had no time for answers.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A series of massive explosions engulfed the camp.
The ground shook violently, flames shooting skyward, shredding the pre-dawn darkness.
Wooden barracks, crude watchtowers, sandbag piles—all were flung and shattered like paper in the blast waves.
Luca didn't even scream before a nearby shockwave hurled him into a snapped flagpole, knocking him unconscious.
The sentinel complaining about the captain was simply blown to bits.
Survivors of the first wave were terrified by the hellish scene.
They crawled from burning ruins, ears ringing, vision blood-red.
They didn't know what happened—only that doomsday had arrived.
Before they could recover, a low engine roar rose from the horizon.
"What the hell is this!?"
A family member screamed in despair.
He hadn't seen Leithanien's achievement exhibition and didn't recognize these iron monsters.
Dozens of never-before-seen steel beasts crushed through the blasted fence, charging with unstoppable momentum.
They advanced while firing, shredding any head that dared show itself.
"Shoot arrows! Shoot arrows!"
Surviving Siracusan family members roared hoarsely.
A few brave soldiers raised crossbows, firing futilely at the oncoming tanks.
Bolts struck the Tiger I's thick sloped armor without leaving a mark, simply ricocheting off.
"Mortars! Use the mortars!"
Gunners hastily set up mortars, lobbing shells blindly at the tank group.
But the shells exploded around the tanks, fragments unable to pierce the solid armor.
In response, a Tiger I turret slowly turned, locking onto the mortar position.
Boom!
The main gun roared deafeningly.
The blast sent the gunners and their weapons skyward.
This shattered the Siracusans' last will to fight.
"Demons! They're demons!"
"Run! Run!"
The so-called defensive line collapsed in five minutes.
Soldiers dropped weapons, fleeing rearward in tears, cursing parents for not giving them more legs.
This was less a battle than a one-sided slaughter.
Or more accurately, an industrial-era dimensional strike against pre-industrial arms.
Leon drove his tank through the wreckage-strewn camp.
Rout soldiers fled at the sight of the massive tanks, souls scattered.
Leon's task was simply to advance relentlessly, opening paths for following infantry carriers and troops.
The veteran in the commander's cupola observed through binoculars, unlit cigarette in mouth, tone casual as if on a picnic.
"All units report."
"013 reporting, breached Point A, no effective resistance."
"024 reporting, reached Point B, spotted enemy platoon—they surrendered."
"052 reporting... uh, sir, we seem to have crushed their kitchen. Smells like stewed meat."
Laughter echoed in the channel.
"Full speed ahead!"
The veteran ordered.
"Our target is Taranto Town twenty kilometers away! Take it before dawn!"
When the first sunlight pierced the clouds, illuminating the scarred land, the battle was over.
Leithanien's 1st and 2nd Armored Divisions sliced through Siracusa's border defenses like a knife through butter, thrusting deep into the interior at high speed.
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