Lorraine was mud, smoke, and the shriek of wounded metal.
The valley had once been a quiet region of pastures and apple groves. Now it was a furnace. Shell craters turned fields into lakes of blood and oil. The air reeked of gunpowder and rot. Rain came and went without cleansing anything—only deepening the muck where horses died still tethered to carts.
Emil Dufort stood atop the Sanglier Mk IV command platform, his field glasses pressed to his eyes as the next bombardment began. Across the rise, a German battery answered with staggering precision, their shells bracketed neatly around the French trenches like a claw closing in.
"Too precise," Emil muttered. "That's not guesswork. They're watching us."
Roland stood beside him, one arm in a sling from a shrapnel wound last week. "We intercepted another transmission last night. Shortwave. Encoded in Kriegsmarine cipher."
"They're not just watching," Emil said grimly. "They're coordinating."
The Shadow of Steel
Rumors had filtered through the intelligence networks over the past week. French scouts captured in Picardy whispered of a German machine—an armored colossus that made even the Sanglier look fragile. Survivors said it had sloped plating and cannon barrels like a warship's. They called it the Feuerschreit, the "Fire Strider."
No photographs existed. Just blackened villages and footprints too wide for any horse-drawn carriage.
Now, near the village of Fontenoy-sur-Moselle, Emil had been ordered to intercept it.
Three Sanglier Mk IVs were stationed under his command. They were larger and slower than the earlier models, but their armor was unmatched. Each mounted twin rotating 37mm autocannons and a short-barreled howitzer turret built for urban clearance.
This would be their first duel against another mechanized beast.
Pre-Battle Preparations
Inside the belly of the lead Sanglier, Marianne checked fuel ratios, turret turn rates, and shell loads. She barked orders at her crew like a drill sergeant, her voice calm despite the rain hammering the steel plates.
Henriette remained at the mobile field command tent, overseeing communications and acting as liaison with Colonel Varin's nervous infantry brigades.
"You shouldn't be going with them," she told Emil before deployment.
"If this thing exists," Emil replied, fastening his harness, "I have to see it with my own eyes."
Henriette pressed a packet into his hands. "Just in case. Orders from Paris. If you die, I'm authorized to take full control of the program."
He arched an eyebrow.
"I wrote them myself," she added.
Engagement at the River Ford
At 0630, the Sangliers rumbled over the ridge. Their tracks churned mud and sod into slurry. Infantry units fanned out on both sides, clutching Lebel rifles and staring wide-eyed at the machines. In the distance, Fontenoy burned.
Then the first shell screamed past.
The German artillery had range—but no time.
Marianne's tank fired first. Her autocannon struck a ridge bunker, silencing it instantly. Emil's own vehicle wheeled to the left, turret swiveling to punch through a reinforced machine-gun nest along the riverbed.
Then came the signal.
"Enemy armor, due north. Forty meters and closing."
And they saw it.
The Feuerschreit
It emerged from smoke like a creature from legend. Taller than the Sanglier by a full meter, it moved on reinforced tread systems angled for speed. Its front plating was wedge-shaped and smooth—cast, not riveted. Two main cannons protruded from the side sponsons, and an elevated central turret carried what looked like a rapid-fire howitzer.
But it wasn't just the weapons.
It was the color—blackened steel with streaks of iron red. Painted onto the hull was a white insignia: a dragon devouring a wheel.
"Jesus," Roland whispered from the gunner's station. "It's real."
Ironclads Collide
The Feuerschreit fired first. A direct hit struck the flank of Tank Three. The impact didn't pierce the armor, but the concussive force collapsed one of the internal bulkheads, knocking two crewmen unconscious.
"Flank it!" Emil shouted into the comm. "Draw it out of the village!"
Marianne responded with a broadside burst. One shell hit the enemy tank's tread, the other ricocheted uselessly off the upper armor.
Emil's tank advanced head-on, shell casings ejecting from its left turret like burning hail.
The two behemoths met in the open field—fifty tons of steel on each side—blasting at each other like rival gods.
Inside Emil's cabin, the heat became unbearable. A pipe cracked. Sparks flew.
Then Roland screamed, "Main gun jammed! We're down to the howitzer!"
Emil didn't wait. He popped the upper hatch, climbed halfway out, and manually signaled the others.
"Blind it! Aim for the turret sights!"
Marianne's crew obeyed. A well-placed shot slammed into the Feuerschreit's vision slit, spidering the reinforced glass.
The beast stuttered. Turned awkwardly. And then—retreated.
💀 After the ClashThe Feuerschreit withdrew under covering fire from German artillery. Its engine sputtered smoke, but it remained operational. The French line surged forward, infantry reclaiming the northern edge of Fontenoy. Emil's crews collapsed from exhaustion. Of the three tanks, only two remained fully functional.
But they had held the line.
And more importantly—they'd survived a confrontation with the future.
"We're not alone anymore," Emil said quietly, watching the shape vanish behind a ridge. "The arms race has begun."
🗺️ Strategic FalloutColonel Varin visited the site two days later. He walked among the shattered trenches, now turned to makeshift graves, and inspected the burn marks on the Sanglier's hulls.
"You saw it?" he asked Emil.
"I fought it," Emil replied.
Varin handed him a sealed envelope.
"From the President. You've been requested to attend an Allied military symposium in Lyon next week. The British want to compare notes. The Americans are sending an envoy. They're talking about an international armored corps."
Emil didn't answer right away.
"Is that what you wanted?" Varin asked.
"No," Emil said, staring at the Feuerschreit's tracks in the mud. "I wanted to save lives."
"And instead?"
Emil exhaled.
"I've created an industry of war."