Juri pushed open the door to his workshop, his breath visible in the frigid air. The engine sat at the center of the room, gleaming under the dim overhead lights. The space was alive with the metallic smell of grease and fuel, and the air buzzed faintly with the sound of a distant generator.
Setting his tools down on the workbench, Juri stared at the engine for a moment. This was it—the culmination of years of work. The masterpiece that could power his dream. Now, he needed to prepare it for the next step: transportation to the military base.
He wiped his hands on his already oil-stained trousers and walked over to a small crane in the corner of the room. The contraption was old but sturdy, capable of lifting the engine and lowering it onto the flatbed of his transport truck. He adjusted the chains, ensuring they were securely hooked onto the engine's steel frame. With a steady hand, he began cranking the mechanism, lifting the heavy machine inch by inch.
The engine rose slowly, its polished surface catching the faint light. Juri's focus was absolute, his brow furrowed in concentration as the crane creaked under the weight. He muttered under his breath, half prayer and half encouragement to the machine. "Steady… steady…"
Just as the engine was suspended mid-air, the workshop door slammed open.
"Juri!"
The voice startled him, and he nearly lost his grip on the crane's controls. Viktor stumbled in, his face pale and his breath ragged as though he had been running for miles. His coat was open, flapping behind him, and his boots left muddy prints on the concrete floor.
"What the hell are you doing, Viktor?" Juri snapped, lowering the engine carefully onto the workbench. "I'm in the middle of something."
"You don't understand," Viktor gasped, gripping the edge of a table to steady himself. "The Germans—they're coming."
Juri froze. "What are you talking about?"
"They're advancing," Viktor said, his words tumbling out in a rush. "A blitzkrieg. Their forces are moving fast, overwhelming everything in their path. It's chaos out there. The villages nearby are evacuating—people are fleeing for their lives."
Juri stared at him, his mind racing. "That's impossible. The Germans don't have the resources for a full-scale assault, let alone a blitzkrieg."
"They're using outdated weapons," Viktor admitted, "World War I-era tanks and rifles. But it doesn't matter. They're hitting hard and fast, and our forces aren't ready for it." He straightened, meeting Juri's gaze. "There's no time to wait for the military's approval, Juri. We need your tank now."
The words hit Juri like a hammer. He opened his mouth to argue, to point out that the tank wasn't ready, but the look in Viktor's eyes silenced him. The fear, the urgency—it was real.
"Damn it," Juri muttered, running a hand through his hair. His gaze shifted to the engine, still sitting on the workbench, and then to the incomplete tank in the garage. The machine was a skeleton of its final form, its bodywork unfinished, its armor incomplete. It was nowhere near battle-ready.
But there was no time for perfection.
"Help me move the engine," Juri said abruptly, grabbing his gloves.
Viktor blinked. "You're serious?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Juri snapped, already turning to the crane. "If we're doing this, we're doing it now. Get the garage doors open."
Viktor nodded and ran toward the garage, throwing open the heavy steel doors. The cold wind rushed in, but neither man paid it any mind. Juri worked quickly, maneuvering the crane to lift the engine again. With Viktor's help, they guided it into the garage and lowered it into the tank's engine bay.
"Grab the bolts," Juri ordered, pointing toward a toolbox. "We need to secure it."
For the next several hours, the workshop became a whirlwind of activity. Juri and Viktor worked tirelessly, mounting the engine and connecting the intricate network of pipes, wires, and fuel lines. The tank's bodywork was still incomplete, so Juri scavenged for scraps of metal from the workshop, welding them onto the frame to create makeshift armor.
The result was far from his original vision. The plating was uneven, hastily bolted into place, and full of gaps that would offer little protection. But it was better than nothing.
"This is madness," Viktor muttered, wiping sweat from his brow as he helped Juri fit the last piece of scrap metal onto the tank's hull.
"Madness is waiting for the military to do something," Juri shot back, his voice sharp. "We don't have a choice."
Finally, they turned their attention to the turret. The massive barrel loomed overhead, a beastly creation designed for destruction. Juri climbed onto the tank, inspecting the mechanism.
"How much ammunition do you have?" Viktor asked.
"Ten rounds," Juri said grimly, hopping down from the turret. "Leftovers from my experiments. Each one is different—some experimental, some standard. It's not enough."
"It'll have to be," Viktor said.
Juri nodded, stepping back to survey the tank. It was a far cry from the masterpiece he had envisioned. The crude armor made it look more like a cobbled-together relic than a revolutionary war machine. But the engine purred softly inside, a hidden heart of raw power waiting to be unleashed.
He placed a hand on the cold steel, his jaw tightening. "It'll hold," he said, more to himself than to Viktor. "It has to."
Viktor placed a hand on Juri's shoulder. "The Germans will be here soon. We need to move."
Juri took a deep breath, nodding. He climbed into the tank's driver's seat, the controls familiar under his hands. He turned the ignition, and the engine roared to life, louder and fiercer than it had in the workshop. The tank shuddered, the floor vibrating beneath him, but it held steady.
"It moves," Viktor said, a hint of awe in his voice.
"It does more than move," Juri replied, gripping the controls. "It fights."
The garage filled with the sound of grinding treads as the tank rolled forward, its massive form casting a shadow across the snowy ground outside. Juri clenched his jaw, his eyes focused on the horizon.
The Germans were coming. And they wouldn't be ready for what was coming to meet them.