01-13-2016, 09:11 PM
The tank killer. Written by Safeguard Prime.
It was late afternoon as the sun’s rays shone through a small circular window at the front of an old church giving the inside an ethereal atmosphere as most churches possessed. A few people sat in the pews, praying for a better yield from their farms. Their heads all facing the stained glass window opposite the main double doors of the old church. Near the entrance a large cross lay leaned up against the wall covered in cloth belted down by four leather straps. Close by, a tall male figure sat in the back row of seats, his hands clasped together as he attempted to pray with the sounds of gunfire echoing in his mind, his grip tightening and causing his knuckles to turn white. The sound of tanks and heavy gunfire growing louder and louder as he was drawn into a phantom memory, a younger version of himself, shouting in anger, a large set of Gatling guns with large drill bits on the end held in his grasp, the barrels beginning to spin. The man gasped as he snapped out of his trance, his gaze resting on a small child smiling up at him with a flower. He smiled as he unclasped his fingers to receive the flower from her, lifting it gently from her small grasp and revealing the burns on his hands, the remnants of his time during the war years ago. The small child giggled softly while her mother stood next to her, noticeably concerned due to the man’s burnt and scarred hands. The man soon rose from his seat allowing him to reach into a pocket of his long, worn out white trench coat, a coat of arms on the shoulders the emblem was in the shape of a British shield: black outline; white on the inside; and in the center was a golden cross. On the cuffs of his sleeves were a pair of crosses that had two sets of arms, making it symmetrical from top to bottom, he stood at precisely six feet and six inches tall, the mother and child looking up at the man as he pulled out a few small bills, handing them to the child as payment for the flower. Soon the church bell began to ring and the ground began to shake. As the ground began to shake more violently the woman became more frightened, wanting to scream in terror from what she knew was approaching, bandits who preyed on the small town armed with a tank they ruled over these people, it was obvious from the woman's reaction alone but when the man glanced towards the others who were in the church, he could see the fear of men and women alike, women clutching tightly to their children, men gritting their teeth unable to protect their families from these monsters. The shaking turned to a rumble of the tank’s treads running against the cobbled street, the tank’s engine belching smoke from its exhaust, the engine growling loudly, over the roar of the engine a gruff male voice would be heard through a megaphone demanding more from the town, more supplies to pay for their "Protection", yet it was obvious they didn’t have enough to spare, soon a pair of men jumped off the back of the tank, threatening those who were still brave enough to stand up against them while the tank was around, they were trying to refuse to pay them any more than they have already given since they would starve without what they had. But the bandits didn't care, they wanted complete control of this town no matter what, the most vocal protester was thrown through the glass window of a run down tavern nearby, people within the establishment too scared to even help the bloodied man. All the while the war torn man watched through the open doors of the church, his teeth grinding with an intense fury as he watched the soldiers turned monsters tear through the town to get what they came for.
Unable to cope any more as the ghostly noise of gunfire shot through his mind he charged forwards, pausing to swing the cloth coated cross onto his back as he left the church to confront the bandits. The small flower drifting slowly to the floor as he forsakes the pathetic excuse for peace he had reclaimed to re-enter a conflict he had no business being in. His old worn military boots stepping onto the cobblestone street, thumping against the surface of the ground his eyes narrowing as he stared at the tank while two of the men glanced towards the stranger, wondering who he and why he dared to stand up after what they had done to the others. The duo walked up towards the man, observing his coat of arms for a moment without a thought before they pointed their rifles towards him, asking him who he was and why he was there, why he dared to oppose them and that he better surrender to them.
The tall man would look down towards the bandits in front of him replying with a mere smile as if he was going to comply to the glorified tyrants and surrender, he slowly moved the cross away from his back and lowered it down close to the ground, dropping it once it was a few inches off the cobbles a loud metallic clang sounded as it hit the ground which surprised the two bandits but before they could react any further the man would grab onto a leather strap on the cross with his left hand, immediately swinging the top of the cross into the stomach of the man on his right sending him flying towards a wall. After that he didn’t care what happened to the bandit since it was the other’s turn. Spinning towards him the man would use his body weight to increase the momentum of his next attack as he swung the cross into the second bandit’s stomach, throwing him to the other side of the road and through a window a deep growl that resonated deep within his throat passing through his lips.
The Bandit Leader was taken aback by the strength of the stranger but didn’t recognise how strong this stranger was as he stood directly in the tanks firing line. Enraging the leader he issued the order to make an example of this fool who was stood in their line of fire, the order to fire, yet the man just braced himself against the cross before an explosion slammed into the cross sending a cloud of dust and smoke into the air as the cobbles shatter.
Yet as soon as the smoke began to clear the man still be stood along with the cross in front of him with only its covering burnt off, falling slowly to the ground the cross’ shining silver outline and shining black inner was revealed. The bandit leader blinked with shock as he saw that the man survived a shot from a tank all the while something began to happen to the man the scent of gunpowder and smoke causing his pupils to narrow as the noise of gunfire echoing in his mind went silent, he looked up as he began to act like the soldier he was, tearing off what was left of the cloth on the cross before he pressed a button on its spine which brought out a the grip and trigger of the gun, revealing what the cross truly was. A anti tank dual barreled machine gun built for his unit, which had consisted of men that were genetically altered to take on the tanks, increasing their size and strength to handle the weapons necessary to pierce the armour and shatter the treads of their enemy’s warmachines.
But of course the bandit leader did not recognise this nor did he care, all he knew was that he was not dead and he wanted that to change as soon as possible. The man hoisted his gun aloft, raising it before the tank fired again. He ducked his head down and took aim with the long gun at an angle which caused the tank’s shell to grind against the armor of his weapon, diverting the shell to smash against roof tiles harmlessly, leaving a scratch where it had impacted the cross. The tank fired again once more getting diverted by the man’s strange weapon. This shocked the bandits who had never seen such a thing before their large egos shrinking by the second as they looked at the man with the cross who just stood there opposing their rule over the town an immovable force deflecting their attacks as though they didn’t even exist. Suddenly the bandit leader realised who this man was, he was none other than the demolisher of tanks one of the last members of the most feared unit for enemy tanks, Captain Murphy of the Anti Tank Division. The leader finally remembering seeing the captain during a skirmish one year before the war ended with the same weapon he held now, except it was now covered in a strange armor that protected it from their tank’s shells fear beginning to set into the leader’s heart as he realised this man, Captain Murphy, was no longer on his side. He was now their enemy and worst nightmare as Murphy raised the barrel of his weapon the two void like holes staring down the tank as his finger pressed the trigger as a loud clanking noise came from the weapon as it was got ready to fire it’s first rounds before the first loud shot sounded, slamming against the tank’s armor and damaging it, shocking the rest of the bandits as no other weapon had been able to even scratch their tank aside from other tanks. The second shot rang out firing no sooner than the first one made contact, starting it’s unstoppable rhythm of clanging as the bullets impacted the thick armor of the hulking vehicle. Showing the men that they had met their match as they attempted to retaliate by firing round after round at Murphy who time after time merely deflected their attacks each time as the bullets began to penetrate their armor until they got lucky and fired a shell at the right moment when Murphy was recovering from the most recent shell, striking the center of the cross, sending him skidding backwards against the street tearing parts of his jacket apart, the cross slamming into the ground near his body.
A smile spreading across their lips as they thought they had got him only to then witness him groan and sit back up grabbing onto the handle of his gun, using his thumb to flip a switch activating a separate mechanism and twist it’s grip around as the top of the cross opened with a hiss while he began to stand with the long end of the cross over his shoulder now, he pulled the trigger and a large canister was shot out and smoke billowing out from it covering the street making him vanish from their view, he flipped the switch again twisting it once more to bring it back to it’s original setting as he took a deep breath and resumed his attack against the bandits as he aimed towards the tank’s treads, striking thin armor covering the left-side’s tread mechanism, they thought he was merely hitting their armor where it was the thickest allowing their normal smug nature to surface.
Yet due to the low visibility from the smoke they could not make sure unlike the man who’s training forced him to memorise the position of the weak points in the armor no matter what the visibility levels were, day or night. Soon the tank began to roll forwards, the bandits choice of attack now was to crush Murphy with the weight of the tank completely unaware of Murphy’s plan as he continued to fire towards the left side treads, tearing them apart with each shot till the tank ran out of tread on that side causing the left side to collapse onto the ground sending sparks flying spinning around the origin point of the now tread-less left side, having lost effective movement and outer shell of the tank armor exposing further weakness, Murphy began to fire upon the exposed section shredding the armor apart and cutting through to the men inside.
His guns barrels smoking as they stared at him in fear when he walked towards them slowly the men shaking in with terror as they tried to figure out what he was until he was a merely a few feet away from them his eyes staring at them as though he would pull the trigger again. The bandits scurried out of the smoldering shell of the tank in a blind panic stumbling across the cobbles now they had lost their weapon, as they fled they were greeted by a crowd of the townsfolk who had been watching the skirmish between the man and the tank in awe now preventing the bandits from escaping.
A jittery man stepped forward from the crowd and pointed to them telling them they were under arrest for their crimes against the town leading to the four bandits to sacrifice their arms fearful that Murphy would come at them again if they didn’t comply with this dithery law enforcement officer.
Murphy stood up straight and dropped the cross barrel first onto the ground leaning heavily on it as a oddly soft smile twitched with his lips as he saw the once scared citizens of the town finally take back control now the bandits had no means of intimidation. Within minutes after the bandits were thrown into jail cells Murphy was the talk of the town with every person in the town talking about how they saw him take on a tank which he found amusing since it used to be his mission to do just that. He soon began to realise something, the gunfire and war in his head was silent even though he had fought again, he revelled that he was not drifting into the horrors of his memories and now the soft smile that had twitched onto his lips grew wider because finally he was at peace with himself and his past.
It was late afternoon as the sun’s rays shone through a small circular window at the front of an old church giving the inside an ethereal atmosphere as most churches possessed. A few people sat in the pews, praying for a better yield from their farms. Their heads all facing the stained glass window opposite the main double doors of the old church. Near the entrance a large cross lay leaned up against the wall covered in cloth belted down by four leather straps. Close by, a tall male figure sat in the back row of seats, his hands clasped together as he attempted to pray with the sounds of gunfire echoing in his mind, his grip tightening and causing his knuckles to turn white. The sound of tanks and heavy gunfire growing louder and louder as he was drawn into a phantom memory, a younger version of himself, shouting in anger, a large set of Gatling guns with large drill bits on the end held in his grasp, the barrels beginning to spin. The man gasped as he snapped out of his trance, his gaze resting on a small child smiling up at him with a flower. He smiled as he unclasped his fingers to receive the flower from her, lifting it gently from her small grasp and revealing the burns on his hands, the remnants of his time during the war years ago. The small child giggled softly while her mother stood next to her, noticeably concerned due to the man’s burnt and scarred hands. The man soon rose from his seat allowing him to reach into a pocket of his long, worn out white trench coat, a coat of arms on the shoulders the emblem was in the shape of a British shield: black outline; white on the inside; and in the center was a golden cross. On the cuffs of his sleeves were a pair of crosses that had two sets of arms, making it symmetrical from top to bottom, he stood at precisely six feet and six inches tall, the mother and child looking up at the man as he pulled out a few small bills, handing them to the child as payment for the flower. Soon the church bell began to ring and the ground began to shake. As the ground began to shake more violently the woman became more frightened, wanting to scream in terror from what she knew was approaching, bandits who preyed on the small town armed with a tank they ruled over these people, it was obvious from the woman's reaction alone but when the man glanced towards the others who were in the church, he could see the fear of men and women alike, women clutching tightly to their children, men gritting their teeth unable to protect their families from these monsters. The shaking turned to a rumble of the tank’s treads running against the cobbled street, the tank’s engine belching smoke from its exhaust, the engine growling loudly, over the roar of the engine a gruff male voice would be heard through a megaphone demanding more from the town, more supplies to pay for their "Protection", yet it was obvious they didn’t have enough to spare, soon a pair of men jumped off the back of the tank, threatening those who were still brave enough to stand up against them while the tank was around, they were trying to refuse to pay them any more than they have already given since they would starve without what they had. But the bandits didn't care, they wanted complete control of this town no matter what, the most vocal protester was thrown through the glass window of a run down tavern nearby, people within the establishment too scared to even help the bloodied man. All the while the war torn man watched through the open doors of the church, his teeth grinding with an intense fury as he watched the soldiers turned monsters tear through the town to get what they came for.
Unable to cope any more as the ghostly noise of gunfire shot through his mind he charged forwards, pausing to swing the cloth coated cross onto his back as he left the church to confront the bandits. The small flower drifting slowly to the floor as he forsakes the pathetic excuse for peace he had reclaimed to re-enter a conflict he had no business being in. His old worn military boots stepping onto the cobblestone street, thumping against the surface of the ground his eyes narrowing as he stared at the tank while two of the men glanced towards the stranger, wondering who he and why he dared to stand up after what they had done to the others. The duo walked up towards the man, observing his coat of arms for a moment without a thought before they pointed their rifles towards him, asking him who he was and why he was there, why he dared to oppose them and that he better surrender to them.
The tall man would look down towards the bandits in front of him replying with a mere smile as if he was going to comply to the glorified tyrants and surrender, he slowly moved the cross away from his back and lowered it down close to the ground, dropping it once it was a few inches off the cobbles a loud metallic clang sounded as it hit the ground which surprised the two bandits but before they could react any further the man would grab onto a leather strap on the cross with his left hand, immediately swinging the top of the cross into the stomach of the man on his right sending him flying towards a wall. After that he didn’t care what happened to the bandit since it was the other’s turn. Spinning towards him the man would use his body weight to increase the momentum of his next attack as he swung the cross into the second bandit’s stomach, throwing him to the other side of the road and through a window a deep growl that resonated deep within his throat passing through his lips.
The Bandit Leader was taken aback by the strength of the stranger but didn’t recognise how strong this stranger was as he stood directly in the tanks firing line. Enraging the leader he issued the order to make an example of this fool who was stood in their line of fire, the order to fire, yet the man just braced himself against the cross before an explosion slammed into the cross sending a cloud of dust and smoke into the air as the cobbles shatter.
Yet as soon as the smoke began to clear the man still be stood along with the cross in front of him with only its covering burnt off, falling slowly to the ground the cross’ shining silver outline and shining black inner was revealed. The bandit leader blinked with shock as he saw that the man survived a shot from a tank all the while something began to happen to the man the scent of gunpowder and smoke causing his pupils to narrow as the noise of gunfire echoing in his mind went silent, he looked up as he began to act like the soldier he was, tearing off what was left of the cloth on the cross before he pressed a button on its spine which brought out a the grip and trigger of the gun, revealing what the cross truly was. A anti tank dual barreled machine gun built for his unit, which had consisted of men that were genetically altered to take on the tanks, increasing their size and strength to handle the weapons necessary to pierce the armour and shatter the treads of their enemy’s warmachines.
But of course the bandit leader did not recognise this nor did he care, all he knew was that he was not dead and he wanted that to change as soon as possible. The man hoisted his gun aloft, raising it before the tank fired again. He ducked his head down and took aim with the long gun at an angle which caused the tank’s shell to grind against the armor of his weapon, diverting the shell to smash against roof tiles harmlessly, leaving a scratch where it had impacted the cross. The tank fired again once more getting diverted by the man’s strange weapon. This shocked the bandits who had never seen such a thing before their large egos shrinking by the second as they looked at the man with the cross who just stood there opposing their rule over the town an immovable force deflecting their attacks as though they didn’t even exist. Suddenly the bandit leader realised who this man was, he was none other than the demolisher of tanks one of the last members of the most feared unit for enemy tanks, Captain Murphy of the Anti Tank Division. The leader finally remembering seeing the captain during a skirmish one year before the war ended with the same weapon he held now, except it was now covered in a strange armor that protected it from their tank’s shells fear beginning to set into the leader’s heart as he realised this man, Captain Murphy, was no longer on his side. He was now their enemy and worst nightmare as Murphy raised the barrel of his weapon the two void like holes staring down the tank as his finger pressed the trigger as a loud clanking noise came from the weapon as it was got ready to fire it’s first rounds before the first loud shot sounded, slamming against the tank’s armor and damaging it, shocking the rest of the bandits as no other weapon had been able to even scratch their tank aside from other tanks. The second shot rang out firing no sooner than the first one made contact, starting it’s unstoppable rhythm of clanging as the bullets impacted the thick armor of the hulking vehicle. Showing the men that they had met their match as they attempted to retaliate by firing round after round at Murphy who time after time merely deflected their attacks each time as the bullets began to penetrate their armor until they got lucky and fired a shell at the right moment when Murphy was recovering from the most recent shell, striking the center of the cross, sending him skidding backwards against the street tearing parts of his jacket apart, the cross slamming into the ground near his body.
A smile spreading across their lips as they thought they had got him only to then witness him groan and sit back up grabbing onto the handle of his gun, using his thumb to flip a switch activating a separate mechanism and twist it’s grip around as the top of the cross opened with a hiss while he began to stand with the long end of the cross over his shoulder now, he pulled the trigger and a large canister was shot out and smoke billowing out from it covering the street making him vanish from their view, he flipped the switch again twisting it once more to bring it back to it’s original setting as he took a deep breath and resumed his attack against the bandits as he aimed towards the tank’s treads, striking thin armor covering the left-side’s tread mechanism, they thought he was merely hitting their armor where it was the thickest allowing their normal smug nature to surface.
Yet due to the low visibility from the smoke they could not make sure unlike the man who’s training forced him to memorise the position of the weak points in the armor no matter what the visibility levels were, day or night. Soon the tank began to roll forwards, the bandits choice of attack now was to crush Murphy with the weight of the tank completely unaware of Murphy’s plan as he continued to fire towards the left side treads, tearing them apart with each shot till the tank ran out of tread on that side causing the left side to collapse onto the ground sending sparks flying spinning around the origin point of the now tread-less left side, having lost effective movement and outer shell of the tank armor exposing further weakness, Murphy began to fire upon the exposed section shredding the armor apart and cutting through to the men inside.
His guns barrels smoking as they stared at him in fear when he walked towards them slowly the men shaking in with terror as they tried to figure out what he was until he was a merely a few feet away from them his eyes staring at them as though he would pull the trigger again. The bandits scurried out of the smoldering shell of the tank in a blind panic stumbling across the cobbles now they had lost their weapon, as they fled they were greeted by a crowd of the townsfolk who had been watching the skirmish between the man and the tank in awe now preventing the bandits from escaping.
A jittery man stepped forward from the crowd and pointed to them telling them they were under arrest for their crimes against the town leading to the four bandits to sacrifice their arms fearful that Murphy would come at them again if they didn’t comply with this dithery law enforcement officer.
Murphy stood up straight and dropped the cross barrel first onto the ground leaning heavily on it as a oddly soft smile twitched with his lips as he saw the once scared citizens of the town finally take back control now the bandits had no means of intimidation. Within minutes after the bandits were thrown into jail cells Murphy was the talk of the town with every person in the town talking about how they saw him take on a tank which he found amusing since it used to be his mission to do just that. He soon began to realise something, the gunfire and war in his head was silent even though he had fought again, he revelled that he was not drifting into the horrors of his memories and now the soft smile that had twitched onto his lips grew wider because finally he was at peace with himself and his past.