B
BIOPrototype3729
Guest
5 novembre 1942
Bir El Abd, Egitto
Bir El Abd, Egitto
“Enemy tanks broke through south of Ariete Division..."
Wind rustled through his hair, the sun basked upon his face. He took no notice of the sand blowing around him, the smell of flames blasting through the air.
"Ariete thus surrounded, located 5kms northwest of Bir-el-Abd..."
He tried to look down, alas, the cupola was still a bit too small for him. If he wanted to take a peek, he'd have to enter the turret completely. But the world was looking upon him now, in this battlefield where no man would ever take notice for years to come. He'd stay a little longer, ignoring his own condition for now. Tanks were littered here and there, some bearing markings of the English. But for the most part, Italy's beautiful roundel soon began to become scorched out of existence.
Eleven guardians. Eleven fallen. The fires were too great, and no one would come to put them out.
"Ariete tanks keep fighting!..."
That was the last time the transmission would be sent from his adjunct, of which was echoed since half an hour before. He didn't expect for the follow ups to be recorded, as the radio signal was just too weak for anything to take notice.
And yet he smiled. A triumphant smile that reflected sunlight upon his toothy grin. Blood gushed from places he couldn't see any longer, and yet he smiled. Why wouldn't he, his countrymen had survived. At the cost of eleven, an entire division would see another day. And for the Second Lieutenant, that was all that mattered.
Papà ... It's time we meet once more...
Wind rustled through his hair, the sun basked upon his face. He took no notice of the sand blowing around him, the smell of flames blasting through the air.
"Ariete thus surrounded, located 5kms northwest of Bir-el-Abd..."
He tried to look down, alas, the cupola was still a bit too small for him. If he wanted to take a peek, he'd have to enter the turret completely. But the world was looking upon him now, in this battlefield where no man would ever take notice for years to come. He'd stay a little longer, ignoring his own condition for now. Tanks were littered here and there, some bearing markings of the English. But for the most part, Italy's beautiful roundel soon began to become scorched out of existence.
Eleven guardians. Eleven fallen. The fires were too great, and no one would come to put them out.
"Ariete tanks keep fighting!..."
That was the last time the transmission would be sent from his adjunct, of which was echoed since half an hour before. He didn't expect for the follow ups to be recorded, as the radio signal was just too weak for anything to take notice.
And yet he smiled. A triumphant smile that reflected sunlight upon his toothy grin. Blood gushed from places he couldn't see any longer, and yet he smiled. Why wouldn't he, his countrymen had survived. At the cost of eleven, an entire division would see another day. And for the Second Lieutenant, that was all that mattered.
Papà ... It's time we meet once more...
-----------------
XX mese sconosiuta XXXX
Corridoio Luminoso
XX mese sconosiuta XXXX
Corridoio Luminoso
The M13/40 came to a brief stop. The Italian didn't realize that he'd arrive upon heaven's doorstep upon a tank. Not to mention it was still riddled with holes, fuel almost completely exhausted. Heaven looked odd as well; he'd expected a flight of stairs and a large gate to be opened by a guardian. Instead it was more of a bright hallway, leagues of doors upon both walls. Looking forwards, he saw a bespectacled man reading a newspaper, as if completely ignoring the commander's presence. There was a mysterious aura to him, without room for guessing just who he may be. Nothing happened for almost half a minute, and so the tanker decided to speak up a little.
"È questo il paradiso?" he asked, inquiring if he was indeed sent to the seven clouds. Who knows; maybe the sins he had committed amounted to the fiery pits of hell? But the lack of response continued to confuse him. Without looking up from his newspapers, the man picked up a piece of paper, of which displayed the commander's personal information. There was a photo of himself, along with a name: Luigi Arbib Pascucci. Is he from headquarters? Am I still alive?...
Opening his mouth to question how the man had acquired such a document, a force began to pull his M13/40 towards one of the doors. Surprised, Luigi tried to get out of his tank, climbing out of the turret. But to no avail, it pulled on himself as well, the door frame widening to accommodate the vehicle, before he was finally taken away from the man and the hallway. Blacking out, Luigi continued to pray that hell was not for him.
----------------
XX mese sconosiuta XXXX
Nuovo Mondo
XX mese sconosiuta XXXX
Nuovo Mondo
Opening his eyes once more, the tank commander awoke in a desert not too dissimilar from North Africa. A cliff hung nearby, rocks littered the flat landscape, and the wind blew dryly. Never had he felt more at home after being subjected to the unknown hallway of before, but now he knew that something was amiss. This was neither heaven nor hell, it may not even be a limbo. He thought to himself that this may be a second chance.
Clearing his mind, Luigi decided to manage what he would do now. Finally looking down into the crew quarters, he expected to see the lifeless bodies of his comrades. But not a single one was to be found. Their uniforms were left behind however, and that included their ammunition. So, collecting his missing gunner's left behind equipment, he clambered out of the turret, intent on scavenging everything he could get to start up an inventory. Every hatch would be searched, and every nook and cranny checked. If he was intent to survive, he had to make sure he knew just what exactly he had left.
After what he believed to be half an hour, Luigi had laid out everything he had gathered. His rucksack, ten clips of ammunition that he had fished out of the pockets of his men, several rations, his compass, his binoculars, a now useless map, and of course, the Carcano rifle to fire all the ammunition he had gathered. He had ripped up a few uniforms to patch up his wounds, the rest of the rags kept for emergencies.
Unfortunately, the fuel was almost gone, only good for a few more kilometers, and the tank's rounds were exhausted to the point of only have one of each kind; his crew had really given hell to the British. Holes were found on every plate of metal, almost destroying all the equipment the vehicle carried. After a bit of fixing and tweaking of the engine, he estimated that he could continue using the vehicle for another hour before having to walk on foot.
Sighing, he placed everything into the sack, and entered the driver's compartment. He was intent on using his loyal steed to the end, and hoped he could find fuel somewhere in this unknown place. Having double-checked the map, he could not identify anything or any place. For all he knew, he could be in a completely different continent. Maybe the Navajo desert?
Shaking his head, Luigi started up the engine, the vehicle sputtering to life once more. Making sure his helmet was in place correctly, the man pulled its goggles over his eyes, not wanting the sand to make him blinded should winds pick up. He kept the hatch open to improve vision, and shifted gears. Rumbling to life, the Italian medium tank began to make its final cruise, her captain searching for intelligent life.
Clearing his mind, Luigi decided to manage what he would do now. Finally looking down into the crew quarters, he expected to see the lifeless bodies of his comrades. But not a single one was to be found. Their uniforms were left behind however, and that included their ammunition. So, collecting his missing gunner's left behind equipment, he clambered out of the turret, intent on scavenging everything he could get to start up an inventory. Every hatch would be searched, and every nook and cranny checked. If he was intent to survive, he had to make sure he knew just what exactly he had left.
After what he believed to be half an hour, Luigi had laid out everything he had gathered. His rucksack, ten clips of ammunition that he had fished out of the pockets of his men, several rations, his compass, his binoculars, a now useless map, and of course, the Carcano rifle to fire all the ammunition he had gathered. He had ripped up a few uniforms to patch up his wounds, the rest of the rags kept for emergencies.
Unfortunately, the fuel was almost gone, only good for a few more kilometers, and the tank's rounds were exhausted to the point of only have one of each kind; his crew had really given hell to the British. Holes were found on every plate of metal, almost destroying all the equipment the vehicle carried. After a bit of fixing and tweaking of the engine, he estimated that he could continue using the vehicle for another hour before having to walk on foot.
Sighing, he placed everything into the sack, and entered the driver's compartment. He was intent on using his loyal steed to the end, and hoped he could find fuel somewhere in this unknown place. Having double-checked the map, he could not identify anything or any place. For all he knew, he could be in a completely different continent. Maybe the Navajo desert?
Shaking his head, Luigi started up the engine, the vehicle sputtering to life once more. Making sure his helmet was in place correctly, the man pulled its goggles over his eyes, not wanting the sand to make him blinded should winds pick up. He kept the hatch open to improve vision, and shifted gears. Rumbling to life, the Italian medium tank began to make its final cruise, her captain searching for intelligent life.
Last edited by a moderator: