Last Call on the Battle of Tali-Ihantala [Ger&Fin]

[Germany]

Ihantala Sector, Finland

July 3, 1944 3:45 AM

Germany didn’t feel so well. He didn’t have any crippling injuries at the moment, and he was plenty well enough to fight and command, but the constant battles and years of accumulating stress, guilt, sorrow, frustration — and, yes, even fear — had been taking a toll on him both mentally and physically. While he was still a force to be reckoned with and several times stronger, faster, and more durable than a human, the deaths of millions of his people and the loss of resources had weakened him to the point where he was a mere shadow of the powerful nation that had invaded Poland five years ago.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t quite that drastic, but he wasn’t healing from injuries to either of his bodies as fast as he used to these days — in fact, his recovery-speed kept getting slower as time went on — and he felt tired, achy, tense, and depressed more often. He’d been losing some of his muscle-strength, too. Not huge amounts, but enough for him to notice.

The war was decidedly not going his way. And no matter how optimistically he tried to force himself to think, he knew deep down that the worst was yet to come. Hitler had proven time and time again how shockingly awful at planning and strategy he was, which was very unfortunate for the Wehrmacht and the SS since he dismissed as rubbish every tidbit of good advice to come his way and insisted on intervening in the plans of his generals and field marshals whenever he felt he needed to, replacing their usually-sound strategies with his “improved” versions, which usually amounted to plowing into the enemy undersupplied, underprepared, and at the worst possible time with no backup plan whatsoever and fighting to the last man no matter what. To make matters worse, the mass genocide he was carrying out all over Europe was just as detrimental to Germany’s health and well-being as it was to all the other affected nations’. Not that the Führer cared. He truly believed that these inhumane and unjust murders were necessary to make his nation stronger, purer, and all-around better in every way, and Ludwig’s best counterarguments had failed to convince him otherwise. In fact, they had gotten him cruelly punished and threatened with a very unpleasant change of job if he so much as hinted at the subject one more time.

With a boss like that who needed enemies?

The very worst part of all was, whether he won or lost this war, Ludwig lost. Naturally losing was by far the worst-case scenario, and he would continue to do absolutely everything in his power to avoid that fate and protect his people, but thinking about what an Axis victory would mean for Lithuania and the targets of his boss’s genocide depressed him. Mostly, he tried not to think about it, keeping himself busy as a bee from the time he woke up to the time he went back to sleep, but it was impossible not to. He had too many memories, couldn’t help but to try to come up with ways to somehow, someway, make things even marginally better in the event he won.

For now, at least, the situation in Finland was a pleasant change of scenery. He’d started for the Nordic country as soon as he’d heard the Finns could really use his help in driving the Soviets out of their land. He didn’t know Tino on a personal level too well, but the two had met and interacted briefly a couple of times before and they’d gotten along well enough. The other nation was undoubtedly more interested in maintaining his independence then contributing to the Axis war effort, Ludwig knew, but right now they were both fighting the same enemy — a Red enemy — and that was all that mattered. Anything that cost the Soviets time, resources, and soldiers helped both of them, making it a mutually beneficial partnership regardless of motives. Besides, Germany didn’t want to see Finland fall to Russia anymore than Finland did: not only for Finland’s sake, but because a Russia with extra land and resources would be harder to beat.

So there were at least two very good, sound, tactical reasons for his military to help Finland’s, and he hadn’t been at all surprised to find the German 303rd Sturmgeschütz brigade already here in the Ihantala Sector when he’d arrived thirty minutes ago. Also unsurprising was the presence of so many Panzerfäuste, and the fact that everyone was wide awake despite the ungodly hour. Intelligence had learned yesterday that the Soviets were planning to launch an attack at the strike of oh-four-hundred hours today, so everyone was scrambling about wildly performing last-minute checks on equipment and supplies as they moved their weapons into formation and waited for the bombers to arrive and head off the pre-emptive strike.

So far everything was going smoothly enough; they may just strike a powerful blow to the Reds with this one after all.

Where are you, Tino? The whole time he had been here, Ludwig had seen neither hide nor hair of his northern ally, though he was almost certainly nearby. He didn’t need to know where he was in order to help him in the upcoming attack, but if at all possible he wanted to show that he was here, that he had actually arrived in-person as opposed to just letting his boss throw a few men and supplies at the situation. Personal visits always meant more, especially between nations.

Confident that the attack would not commence for another seven to ten minutes, the battle-worn German strode swiftly and purposely behind the lines of StuG IIIs, combat boots crunching audibly over twigs and pine cones, weary blue eyes scanning the assemblage for a familiar fair face highlighted by violet eyes and honey-blonde hair that was a couple of shades lighter than his own. Thankfully, he had geography on his side; whereas most parts of the world would be either pitch-black or mostly-dark this early in the morning, here the sun had already almost finished rising, bathing the land in a warm glow that broke gently through the trees and rendered the forest in an ever-changing quilt of soft shadows. If Tino was anywhere near and not already in a StuG III, he’d be easy to find.

______________________________________

A/N: Urgh, I have trouble with starters. Sorry, Fin. Hopefully it's good enough to get the ball rolling, at least. ^^I got most of my facts from Wikipedia. If you see something that isn't quite right, let me know and I'll fix it straight away.

I used this chart to determine how light it would be out there.

EDIT: Hopping over to my secondary color for this one, since I don't get to use it often. ^^

[Finland]

The hour to mobilize was fast approaching and Tino hadn’t yet slept that night, which was only a night by name. The sun had never fully set, Karelia tinted various shades of purple and gold by the enduring summertime twilight. Even if it had not been for the twenty-four hour daylight, the little Nordic wasn’t sure he could sleep due to the excitement of the battle to come. His heart thrummed rapidly in anticipation of the events to unfold early this summer morning, adrenaline the only thing keeping him awake.

Some hours before, the Finns had intercepted a Russian message describing their plans to attack the Finnish forces. The Soviet 63rd Division and the 30th Armored Brigade were to attack early into the dawn. Such a discovery had overjoyed the Finns – at last, they would have the upper hand. After suffering devastating losses in Tali just days prior to intercepting the message, a successful attack would bring a much-needed morale boost.

Straight away, the Finns had contacted their German allies about the discovery and a plan was formed. Just minutes before the Soviets had planned to attack, eighty pilots, Finns and Germans, were to bomb the Russians while a line of StuG IIIs fired from the ground simultaneously in a preemptive strike. For the sake of Finland and its people, Tino knew this attack had to work.

Tino smiled with a tired confidence as he paced down the line. It will work.

As he walked behind the tanks, checking on the progress of the preparations, he watched the soldiers. “Thankful” was a term that hardly managed to describe how Tino felt when it came to the support the Germans had been giving to his people. It wasn’t the first time. When he’d been struggling with the Civil War after gaining his independence from Ivan, it was with Ludwig’s support that the White Guard had been victorious in ridding Finland of Red influence. Tino had been alone and confused then, and Ludwig had been a guiding beacon. The Finn forbade himself to think of what the result would have been had his German ally not offered assistance.

And now he was helping him once more. With no aid from the Allies and none from his brothers, Tino thought that he was destined to go through the hell of fighting Ivan alone yet again. The thought itself was enough to strike panic through him. It was true that he’d managed to destroy Ivan’s plans of conquest before, but it had not been easy and certainly not without cost. The red of his peoples’ blood that had stained the land after the Winter War was more chilling than the snow. He’d kept his independence, but he’d suffered so much loss that at times it hardly seemed worth it.

It won’t be like that this time, Tino reminded himself, taking a deep breath of air that smelled like pine tar and gun smoke to clear his mind. He wasn’t alone, now. He had Ludwig and Ludwig’s men and Ludwig’s weapons. The Panzerfäuste had been a huge help to his people who were so ill-equipped against the Soviets. They now had the powerful Sturmgeschütz III, the Sturmi as his people had taken to calling them. The blond Nordic was stopping to inspect one of the tanks now, running his eyes over the sturdy design. Three soldiers were scrambling about the hulking machine, making their final preparations before they received the order to attack.

Tino’s eyes drifted down to the bold swastika emblazoned on the front, marred by the shadow of the gun’s barrel. It stood as a reminder that this alliance was not without consequence. He was a Nazi, now, and for all intents and purposes, he supported the Nazi cause. Of course he didn’t. Nothing on earth could have convinced Finland to support the travesties the SS had caused and he questioned the sanity of Germany’s boss. Most of the countries did realize that the support being given was not related to the cause of this second chapter of the War and that without Germany’s help, Finland would be swallowed up by the Soviet Union. Nonetheless, in the eyes of the Allies and all those defended by them, the Finns had made their bed with the Germans and now they had to suffer the penalties.

It doesn’t matter,[/color] Tino assured himself, once again striding along. Let them come. He’s here now. That’s all I need.[/color]

Hurrying his steps so as not to be late – time was growing short, after all – Tino continued to make his way through the crowds of soldiers. He’d been assigned to fight behind one of the guns this morning. After the heavily solo types of missions of the Winter War, it had taken some getting used to being in the hot, cramped quarters of a Sturmi with three other men, all having to work in tandem to pull off a successful strike. At times, Tino missed being able to lie in wait in the silence of a snowy trench, popping up just enough to see his enemy, firing and lying back down. Relying on the help of others was hard, but a soldier could always trust his rifle. A rifle could not fail its owner, taking orders more perfectly than any man or nation alive.

Still, the Finn had managed for most of the war to tolerate having to give and take orders in the Sturmi, working with what the three other members on the four-man-teams would give him. Finnish or German, he viewed his comrades all the same. Language barriers had given him a bit of trouble at first, but he was able to pick up common commands and terms rather quickly. Even now, he could hear and, for the most part, understand bits of the harsh southern language mixed in with the clipped sounds of familiar Finnish.

Tino had been so enveloped in observing the soldiers going through their preparation routines that he’d almost failed to notice the man standing in front of him, jolting a bit out of surprise and taking an instinctive step back.

“Anteeksi,” he nearly apologized, clipping his words short as he realized exactly who it was that was standing before him. “Ludwig?” His round eyes, underlined with the dark bruises of sleeplessness, widened at the sight of his fellow nation-spirit present on the battlefield. At last, he snapped back to reality and gave a proper salute. He hadn’t known Ludwig was to be at this battle and to see him was quite an honor. Tino had to struggle to keep his mouth drawn in a tight, thin line as the corners threatened to turn up in a grin.

“What are you doing here?” That was a stupid question and Tino didn’t realize that until after he’d ask. Without missing a beat, he corrected, “To what position have you been assigned?”


____________________

Oh, well if we’re using secondary colors, let me break mine out!

Terribly sorry about the wait. Once I get caught up in my threads this time, I’m going to give it my best effort to stay caught up. I hope I gave you enough to work with! This intro was a bit difficult for some reason.

[Germany]

For once, luck was on Ludwig’s side. A minute or two of brisk walking and he picked out Tino standing off more or less by himself a few meters ahead of him, intently surveying the scene. No doubt he was performing his own last-minute checks to make sure everything was progressing as smoothly as possible before he took his own position.

Ludwig quickened his pace to a slow jog, weaving around the few men who drifted through his path. Approaching Tino roughly from the side, he stopped a few paces directly in front of him.

For all intents and purposes, he expected to be noticed right away.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t.

Tino was either very tired or so absorbed in what he was doing that it took a moment longer than it should have for it to dawn on him that he had company. When it did, he began to apologize — Ludwig knew just enough Finnish to make that out — then cut himself short.

“Ludwig?” His eyes widened in surprise.

Those eyes; Ludwig couldn’t help noticing the dark rings under them, the hallmark of sleepless nights. The Soviets were clearly giving the Finns hell, just as they continued to do with the Germans.

Not good.

Ludwig nodded. “Yes. It’s me.” He wasn’t sure how much German Tino understood, and he wasn’t yet even functional in Finnish, so he spoke in Shaykomay. It was just as well; in addition to minimizing misunderstandings, it had the added benefit of keeping their conversation private. Not essential in this case, but it did allow them to refer to each others’ more inhuman qualities if they so chose without getting odd looks from their soldiers.

The verbal affirmation snapped Tino to attention. His hand shot up in a respectful salute, his expression livening. He seemed happy to see him. “What are you doing here?”

Ludwig blinked. Isn’t it obvious?

Tino must have realized what kind of a question that was, for he immediately followed up with a better one before the German had a chance to answer. “To what position have you been assigned?”

“I just got here, actually.” Ludwig admitted, feeling slightly embarrassed, “When I heard how dire your situation was I came as soon as I could.” He glanced to his right where the line of StuG IIIs sat like crouched tigers waiting to advance. The heavy clanking of tank hatches hurriedly opening and closing mixed with the metallic clicks of weapons being readied and the occasional German or Finnish command. A few engines sprang to life.

Satisfied, he turned his sights back on Tino. “I’m the highest ranking German here, so I can assign myself to whatever position I like.” There was no bragging in his tone, but some of the dull weariness which had been present in his voice all morning lifted up. His tired frown became less intense. “To what position have you been assigned?”

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A/N: Ah, sorry for the short post — it was a little tricky for me when this is pretty much their first major interaction ( by our formula ). Lud's still getting to know Tino and doesn't really have many preconceived notions about him.

No worries though! The post are sure to flesh out more as we roll along. [/color][/i]

[Finland]

Tino listened intently to Ludwig’s explanation, trying to study the man’s face without being too obvious about it. “I just got here, actually,” he heard the German explain, noticing that he sounded almost as worn out as Tino felt, himself. The Nordic wondered if his recent arrival meant he’d been awake throughout the night as he travelled. It would certainly explain the air of exhaust he had about him. “When I heard how dire your situation was I came as soon as I could.”

A quiet gulping noise could be heard resounding from the little Finn’s esophagus, the motion of his throat working hidden by the high collar of his uniform. The realization had finally set in. Germany was here. Germany, himself, was here in Finland. His lone savior had made a personal effort to assist in the war. Tino was honored and humbled and terrified all at once. Wide-eyed and dumbstruck, the Nordic gave an expressionless nod, perhaps not lifting his head as high as it had been before, partially out of respect but partially out of fear.

Oh, God, I addressed him by his mortal name and everything…[/color]

Finland watched as Germany’s gaze drifted elsewhere for a moment, doing his best to follow the other nation’s line of sight. He seemed to be inspecting the Sturmi, possibly proud to see the weapons of German origin lined up and ready to battle the Soviets.

Tino, eyes still fixed on the machines, he failed to notice when Ludwig turned his attention to back to him, jumping when the larger man began confidently speaking . “I’m the highest ranking German here, so I can assign myself to whatever position I’d like.”

If Tino hadn’t been terrified before, that sudden stroke of self-assurance certainly made him so, now. Of course he knew that Ludwig would be high in the ranks, but the highest? The realization settled in that Ludwig could order his troops to do whatever he pleased. If he decided this mission, that this war wasn’t worth it, he could order them all to return home, abandoning Tino and leaving him to fend for himself and quelling their one shot at pulling off a successful preemptive strike against the Russians. After all, how would the little bud of a nation, Suomen Tasavalta, be expected to be of any value to the mighty Third Reich?

He prayed that the fact that the Soviet Union was their common enemy would be enough to keep Ludwig around just a little longer. He just couldn’t do this on his own again.

Finland managed another nod and a timid, “I understand.” It was so quiet that he doubted it had even reached the German’s ears over the grinding of the motors and the shouted orders behind them.

“To what position have you been assigned?”

“Yliluutnantti Väinämöinen of the Assault Gun Battalion,” Tino responded mechanically. He nearly saluted again – and introduction and a salute to a higher-ranking officer seemed to go so naturally hand-in-hand – but he caught himself, back held ramrod straight and hands still at his sides. “I’m to be serving as the gunner on,” he paused then, turning to study the line of tanks before finding his target, gesturing to it with an outstretched arm. “I’ll be serving as the gunner on this unit, the Ps.531-37. I will be the senior officer for my assigned crew.”

The Finn’s mouth opened to say something else, to voice a request, but he stopped wordlessly to chew on his lip. It was a nervous gesture and he obviously slipped deep into thought for a moment, tired eyes subtly tracking back and forth along a track in the mud made by one of the tanks as his mind mulled over a thought. Who was he to ask something more of Ludwig, who had already done so much? He’d even shown up to Ihantala in person, not only a symbolic honor for the Finns but also a great addition to their strength.

Behind him, tank commanders were calling out to their teams to finish the preparations and board the tanks and mechanics were giving their final approvals on the machinery. The noise and chaos reminded Tino that time was of the essence and that stalling would do no good.

I need to ask him.[/i]

Taking a steadying breath to muster up as much courage as he could possibly manage, Tino continued, “With your full compliance, Officer Herrmann, I would greatly appreciate it if you were to serve as commander for my crew.” He kept his eyes set hard, locked on the German’s as he made the request. It felt strange, as if he was asking some human general he hadn’t spent his centuries-long life with. “I have not yet been assigned a commander and would be honored to have you aboard.”

At last, his chest squeezed out a held breath of air in relief, dropping his eyes to their feet for a moment and clearing his throat before daring to look back up.

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[[Sorry it took so long to have something so short posted! orz ]]

[Germany]

Ludwig listened patiently as Tino revealed his title and position with an extremely rigid posture and eyes that didn’t stray. Indeed, were it not for his speech and the subtle rise and fall of his chest, he may well have been a life-sized toy soldier, frozen in the act of displaying deep respect to a superior. It was both proper and flattering at the same time; proper because protocol demanded that soldiers maintain a straight and unflinching, dignified stance when in the presence of higher-ranking officers, and flattering because Tino and Ludwig were in different armies. They were allies, true, but unlike Italy Finland was not a German puppet state. That he so readily offered Ludwig the respect he deserved was a good sign that they were getting off on the right foot, and the Nazi found himself increasingly pleased with the situation. Truly, this effort would not be wasted.

“I’m to be serving as the gunner on…”
There was a brief pause as the Finn’s eyes darted back to the line of tanks.

Naturally, Ludwig followed his gaze.

Evidently picking his unit out rather quickly, Tino gestured towards it with his arm. “I’ll be serving as the gunner on this unit, the Ps.531-37. I will be the senior officer for my assigned crew.”

Senior officer to your crew hm? Not bad. Not great, but not bad. Due in no small part to their inhuman qualities and decades or centuries of experience loving, fighting, and living, most nation spirits who cared to ended up with decently-high ranks within their respective militaries. Not all enjoyed warfare as much as Ludwig though, and many served in their armed forces only in times of need, possessing no real desire to climb as high up the latter as Colonel, General, or Field Marshal. Perhaps Finland was one of those countries, or perhaps he was just cycling through the ranks again after having to change his identity. That was one of the more annoying things about not aging — after a certain point it became necessary to start all over again with a new alias and cut all ties with humans who knew who you were, but not what you were.

Ludwig was on the verge of saying something when whatever thought had been going through his mind suddenly left him. A blank expression swept his face as he tried to remember what it was. It had definitely had something to do with the tanks and the planned attack…Damn, I must be getting tired.

“With your full compliance, Officer Herrmann, I would greatly appreciate it if you were to serve as commander for my crew.”

That was it! How the hell could have he forgotten?! He’d been about to ask Tino if he needed any assistance. The battle plans were already well underway; he’d shown up so embarrassingly late that essentially the only thing left to do was find a weapon, join a unit, and fire along with them.

He met the other country’s gaze dead-on, and was a little surprised by the strength that seemed to simmer quietly behind those violet-hued irises. It only made sense that Finland would feel passionate about not wanting to be occupied and controlled by Russia again — who in their right mind wouldn’t? — but he’d never thought of the smaller, more timid nation as being strong in any sense of the word. Strong countries did not behave so submissively, did not have to rely on pacts, treaties, and alliances with other countries to protect themselves from invasion and subjugation. No, a strong country was independent, confident, proud, and above all capable of conquering others. He was valued by his friends, feared by his enemies, and respected by both. As far as Germany could tell, Finland pretty much just lived in Sweden’s shadow. Only this time not even Sweden was helping him. It was pathetic in a way that managed to be both sad and funny at the same time.

“I have not yet been assigned a commander and would be honored to have you aboard.”

A thin, chilled wisp of a smile came to Ludwig’s lips; his eyes remained locked on Tino’s even as the other dropped his sights to the ground. “Well then, in that case I accept.” There was a good measure of pride in his voice, and a touch of something vaguely menacing that he wasn’t even aware of. “Lead the way.”

Walking briskly to the appropriate group of StuG IIIs, Ludwig felt his body heat with anticipation, his senses begin to sharpen in that almost preternatural way they always did right before a battle. It didn’t matter that he would be inside a tank this time and mostly protected from enemy fire, that he wouldn’t be up close fighting another nation-spirit, that his side had the element of surprise. This was an important battle in an important war with much at stake. In minutes they would be killing a lot of Soviets. Just envisioning the events that were about to unfold made him tingle with dark glee; he couldn’t wait to get started!

The sun’s warmth was intensifying now — he could feel the yellow rays on his cheeks and hands, sinking into his skin in a wonderfully pleasant way. A weak breeze gently teased the boughs of the trees around them, the sounds of rustling leaves and evergreen needles mixing with the lively chatter of birds to create a deceptively peaceful, innocent backtrack to the roar of tank engines and the shouts of men heavy on their feet as they settled into position. The fresh, wild air was heavy with the scent of pine and a tinge of exhaust.

A faint sorrow touched Ludwig; even though it wasn’t his, it was a shame they had to ruin some of this beautiful wilderness with bombs, missiles, and firearms. He’d always had a great fondness for nature and wildlife and was usually a big advocate of environmental conservation. Hopefully most of the animals would be frightened off into safety by the first explosions. Killing bloodthirsty enemy soldiers before they had a chance to kill you and your comrades was justified, exciting, rewarding — even fun under the right circumstances — but killing innocent animals for absolutely no reason at all other than them having the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time was just dickish.

They reached the tank in no time: a fine StuG III worthy of its German origin. Ludwig was at the open hatch in two gliding, effortless movements that strongly hinted to the fact that he was very used to working in, on, and around tanks. Crouching at the entrance hole, he peered inside the shadowy interior, blinking furiously as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting.

Quite quickly, the arm and torso of a Finn came into view. The young man gazed back up at Ludwig with a slightly troubled, puzzled expression, obviously wondering why a German was staring down at him.

There it was: the loud, unmistakable buzz of scores of aircraft in the sky, all coming this way.

Ludwig instinctively jerked his head up. There they were: multitudes of small, dark shapes streaking through the sky, growing louder, larger, and more intimidating by the moment. They’d be directly overhead within minutes….

Streamers of white, burning smoke!

They’re opening fire! The attack has started!

As Ludwig watched, the sleek missiles streaked across the sky with impressive speed, white smoke trailing out behind them like the tails of comets. All of them were headed straight for the enemy position.

Ludwig turned to Tino anxiously, excitement glittering in his eyes. “I don’t speak Finnish. Translate for me. Tell your comrades that I’m serving as the commander of this tank.”

Once that was clear and any extra people that may be present had a chance to get out, he would climb in and take up his position.

[Finland]

Rare was the instance that Tino felt as relieved as he did at the moment that Ludwig responded, “Well then, in that case I accept.” He snapped his head up promptly to meet the German’s gaze. It was so unlike his own, blue and cold – the Aryan standard.

Like Berwald’s,[/i] the Finn allowed himself to muse for a moment. The careless action was punished with a storm of voices and emotions ordering him to just forget the other since he wasn’t here and he was never coming and don’t you dare go weak and actually miss him now!

With the order of “Lead the way” clear in his head, the only thing he allowed to be there, Tino gave a terse nod and spun on his heels to start off in a clipped pace towards the unit they would be sharing. The sun was rising, he noticed, but he felt none the more awake for it. It would be hot soon, pressed into the cramped cockpit of a tank, the air thick with the scent of smoke and metal and sweat. It was only a bit more bearable than the frigid, frostbitten conditions of the Winter War.

Ludwig was the first to reach the tank, swinging easily onto the side with what his fellow nation assumed to be excitement. It was strange, Tino thought as he watched the German peep into the cockpit, to see someone normally so proper display such eagerness over something like the prospect of making a kill. Without a doubt, Ludwig was out for blood.

Finland, not being quite the athletic powerhouse that Germany was and being a great deal shorter, put a bit more effort into climbing onto the tank. As he clambered up the side of the great metal beast, perching on the fender over one of the tracks, a piercing, rumbling roar overhead drew his attention and attracted his tired eyes to the sky. Between the Morning Star and the battle-marred Earth flew a swarm of aircraft, their engines humming a war song and making the air acrid with jet fuel.

“I don’t speak Finnish.”

Prompted by the voice, Tino adjusted his gaze from the jets back to Ludwig’s eyes, noting again how piercing the color was, even bluer than would be the midday sky. Was it possible that with the extinguishing of all of those deviating from the standard that they were becoming more and more blue? In its likelihood, it was an unnerving prospect.

“Translate for me. Tell your comrades that I’m serving as commander of this tank.”

The Finn nodded and sidled up next to the main hatch, banging heavily on the loader’s hatch to alert him to pay attention. In a moment, the square flap opened and a young soldier poked his head out, looking something like a timid gopher. The one spotted by Ludwig in the cockpit stood to peer out through the main hatch, as well, eyes trained nervously on the German as he was likely counting the numerous ribbons and taking note of the German insignia that denoted high rank.

“Listen up!” Tino barked in a voice that reminded him of his own oft forgotten strength. He was able to force the staccato sounds of his human language over even the rumble of jets and tanks. “Do both of you speak Finnish?” The young men nodded quickly and gave a respectful yes sir. Continuing on in Finnish, Tino explained, “Today we have the privilege of having Officer Herrmann as commander. You are to follow his commands to the letter! If you so much as think about questioning his authority, I’ll personally drag you out of the tank when this battle is over, gut you with my knife and hang your meat in my smokehouse. Is this understood?”

“Yes sir!” cried the two now intimidated Finns once more, saluting to Ludwig as they were so trained to do.

“State your name and rank.” Each introduced himself, Tino translating their ranks to the nations’ shared primordial tongue. Their positions were pathetic – one being a private first class and the other a corporal. They must have been scraping the bottom of the barrel to come up with such beginners, Tino thought with a little snarl of the lip. “Good,” Tino responded when they were finished, looking to Ludwig to give a little nod to convey that the message had been received loud and clear.

“Now take your positions.” Worming his way down into the tank and into the forward-most part of the cockpit, Tino sat himself by the gun controls. The humans were close to follow, leaving the seat nearest the hatch for their German commander.

Tino could hear the excited chatter of the loader on the radio, synchronizing the impending mobilization. It was only a matter of seconds, now, and the ground would be disappearing under them as they rolled out towards Russian lines.

At last, the humans reported that all final preparations were complete. It was time. Taking a steadying breath to quell the rising anxiety and excitement, Finland looked up to the German and said, “On your command, sir, we’re ready to mobilize.”

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I hope this gives you enough to work with! You can go ahead and describe the attack in your post if you want, and if you want to do the time skip, that's fine, too.

[Germany]

As he informed his crew of the new arrangements, Tino’s voice took on a louder, harsher, more commanding quality that hinted at either previously-held higher ranks or a strength that the other nation suppressed in the presence of higher-ranking, more powerful members of his kind. Ludwig barely understood any of what he was saying — he caught something about speaking Finnish and the words for “authority” and “battle” — but there was no mistaking the Nazi-like authority in his tone, or the way the his men seemed to shrivel before him.

There were two of them in the tank, it turned out. Neither appeared to be very high-ranking, or to have much of an idea about what he was doing. On Tino’s cue they offered their German commander a nervous salute, their fearful eyes traveling along the awards, medals, and insignia that decorated his uniform.

What hints of excitement played around Ludwig’s mouth slipped away, replaced by a not-cold but very unimpressed frown. Why did he get the feeling he was about to be disappointed?

Maybe because he was.

Sure enough, Finland’s translations revealed the humans to be novices; one was a mere private first class, the other a corporal. In all likelihood this was their first real mission, or at least the most action they had ever seen. They were practically guaranteed to make mistakes.

Damn. While Germany was certain that his and Finland’s leadership would be enough to prevent the most serious mistakes the greenhorns might otherwise make and offset whatever blunders they did happen to slip in, it was still an inconvenience, and one more thing to worry about when they started attacking the enemy. Even in favorable circumstances unseasoned soldiers were more prone to being too overwhelmed with emotion to think clearly in high-stress situations and required more supervision and instruction than their experienced counterparts — more and more as this war went on they even needed full-out on-the-spot training because they hadn’t gotten the chance to receive adequate military training prior to being thrown at the frontlines — and these days Ludwig just didn’t have the patience for that. He’d been through it too many times, both witnessing and directly suffering as a result of the same inane mistakes being made over and over and over again.

Thankfully they would all be in a tank with limited visibility, and the Axis had both the element of surprise and the advantage.

Having relayed the message and gotten the formalities out of the way, Tino gave Ludwig a curt nod to show that they were good to go before turning back to the hatch, giving a command in Finnish, and descending into the tank.

As he waited for his crew to slip into position, Ludwig’s eyes shot back to the sky. The aircraft — a 50/50 mix of Finnish and German bombers from the colors and designs — were directly overheard now and banking a little more to the right to better target the enemy. The ground as well as the air shook from the triple-punishment of their loud, powerful engines; tanks rolling into position; and the screaming cacophony of bombs hitting their targets. With all the racket and sight-limiting trees it was impossible to tell if the Russians had started to return fire, but it seemed unlikely that they would have had time to get their act together. Nothing like a surprise attack to throw one off one’s game.

Satisfied with the way things were going thus far, he turned his sights back on the tank’s entrance hole. Everyone was inside now and seemed to be settled. Deftly turning his body, he dropped down feet-first into the dim interior of the great armored beast, the sound of his landing muffled by the dragonlike rumble of the tank’s engine. Around him, his crewmates were already in place and still as statues, attentively awaiting further instruction.

They were ready.

“On your command, sir, we’re ready to mobilize.”

Ludwig nodded, a flash of something dark, violent, and thoroughly wicked streaking across his eyes. “Excellent. Driver move out. Let’s get those basterds.”

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The first hour and a half of the preemptive attack went rather well: the two human greenhorns were refreshingly competent and, apart from a brief-but-annoying episode of getting stuck in some mud, everything commenced almost textbook perfectly with them sticking to formation and firing repeatedly into enemy lines. Just as they’d hoped, the Reds were taken totally by surprise; the intense and prolonged firestorm from both land and sky destroyed scores of their tanks, many before they even had the chance to fire their first shot. They rolled past the smoking, charred, twisted chasses of these in pursuit of the enemy, Ludwig’s head and torso darting out unexpectedly into the open air every once in a while to pull off a few lightning-quick shots via personal pistole at any vulnerable tank-deprived Russian within range before diving back into the safety of the StuG III. Because the opportunity for a low-risk, high-hit-potential pistole attack did not often present itself, and because his shots had to be hasty, Ludwig didn’t score many kills this way: one certain and five possible. Still, every little bit helped. Why should Tino have all the fun?

Now, nearly a full two hours after mobilization the situation was rapidly changing. The Soviets stopped running and began stubbornly standing their ground, determined not to be pushed back any further. They’d found a spot where the terrain worked to their favor and hid themselves and their war machines behind small hills and rocky outcroppings, vanished until they were all-but invisible into dense clumps of trees and bushes. Not for a minute did they stop firing their weapons or doing their level best with their crippled division to destroy as many as they could of the German/Finnish coalition bearing down on them.

So, this was the dramatic last-stand, was it?

Pathetic.

Anyone who didn’t surrender on the spot would be slaughtered.

A thin, cold smile crept onto Ludwig’s face — after all his recent losses it felt pretty damn good to emerge victorious once more, to force the encroaching Red invasion back and inflict some major damage on their number and equipment. Even better, the Soviets were giving it their best and their best wasn’t good enough. The whole situation made the Nazi nation tingle with pleasure — few things in life were better than a hard-earned victory against a worthy opponent. This was what he lived for!

All that remained was to dash the hopes of these last few death-or-glory die-hards and devastate them into surrender.

A lone tank half-hidden in some bushes — and seemingly experiencing some technical difficulties — made an irresistible target.

With a curt command to the driver, Ludwig guided his tank into position. Then he gave another command. “Gunner heat tank.” By this point the crew understood most of his one-to-three word German commands, and the loader wasted no time in loading the correct type of ammunition.

Perched uncomfortably on his barely-there seat, Germany stretched his arms and legs as much as he could without hitting something while he waited for Finland to do his thing. It had been a bumpy, cramped two hours, and though he was used to such conditions he was eager to get the next hardest part done and begin the more pleasant task of rounding up the fresh POWs on foot.

Wait…something’s wrong.

Ludwig frowned. For the first time it occurred to him that the faint roar of engines in the background that he had noticed a minute ago and taken to be other StuG IIIs was getting progressively louder and sounding more and more like it was coming from ahead and above rather than behind and to the sides.

Are the bombers circling back? What…?

Minutes later he had his answer. The outside world exploded with the full roaring fury of dozens of bombs exploding on land and tank alike.

“We’re under attack!” The Soviets were retaliating with an air strike! The ground trembled violently under the punishment. The StuG III rocked like a boat going through choppy water. One of the humans on board called out urgently in rapid-fire Finnish to Tino, his eyes round and wide with fear.

Then, just like that, there was an earsplitting, deafening BOOM and the left front side of the tank rushed inward in a flash of white.

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A/N: Um, yeah. The Soviets have arrived, and their StuG III was just hit by a bomb. I'm thinking at least one of the humans might survive to give us canon fodder in the upcoming fight, but it's up to you, Fin! Their fate is in your hands!

You can have that one Finn saying whatever you want, too. Just adding a touch of realism, since it seems like something a novice would be really worried about.

I got my tank commands from this site: www.1-33rdar.org/firecomm.htm . Very informative for authenticity!

Either Russia or Finland could be up next to post, I think. You guys can work it out between yourselves. ^^

[Russia]

The day had started out relatively well for Russia and his people. Or at least, it had started off as well as it could have given the circumstances. The large nation had gotten a fair amount of sleep the previous night, thanks to far too much alcohol. The hangover was less pleasant of course, but at least Ivan was not as sleepy as those poor soldiers who had been up most the night worrying about the fight to come. It had been decided that they would attack at dawn, hopefully taking the Finns by surprise and decimating them quickly. Wasn’t that usually the plan these days? Attack quickly and hope the enemy slept in? Sadly, these days it seemed that the enemy never slept in. And still, the Soviets found themselves hoping against odds that their plan of striking so early would prove devastating.

After having awaken before dawn, Ivan had wasted no time in going over the plans with his highest ranking comrades while they had warmed by the fire. With the perpetual light, it was sometimes hard to tell what time of day it was just by looking. It was hard to even remember what the date was, with one day bleeding into the next. Yet, the ever lightening sky was nice in that it made it easier to see. That wasn’t always a good thing, since the enemy could see better too, but it was better than a perpetual night. It surely wasn’t the worst time of year to fight.

Not that taking down a bunch of Finns should have been so hard of a task. But as with most battles in this war, things were not going as Ivan would have hoped. His dreams of just claiming Finland and his resources quickly and efficiently was not going so good now that the Germans had started supplying them with anti-tank weaponry. That was not only rude on the German’s part, but downright inconvenient. Before, they had more than had the upper hand with their unbeatable armored units. Now, those armored tanks were not doing so well, and more and more were being obliterated by the enemy. How was he going to conquer Finland and every other nation on his secret list of “places I want to paint red” when those damned Germans kept getting in the way? Surely, they were only helping Finland because they were pissed at how thoroughly the Soviet Union had kicked ass in the recent battles. The thought had brought a confident and happy smile to the Russian’s lips as he had finished warming up and watched the 21st army prepare for the day.

Much to the Soviet nation’s dismay, that happy thought of beating Germany had been the only highlight of the morning. Though things had started off alright, the Soviets had been surprised to suddenly find themselves attacked early on. To the east, the Finns had started advancing towards their location as though they had somehow known the Soviet plan to attack at dawn. Ivan and his men had been stationed a ways off from the main area of fighting, but their comrades had sent word that they were taking heavy casualties and needed help quickly. His group of infantry and aerial units would need to act quickly if they wished to be of help.

Ivan found it good though, that for this little fight, he would not be trapped in some tank. These days, it seemed as though being trapped in a tank was as good as being placed in a coffin. The anti-tank units were proving to be very good on the enemy’s side. No, this time, he was to fly to battle and gun down as many enemies as he could from the relative safety of his Soviet model I-15 fighter plane. After his last horrible experience with being in a tank, it was a relief to get to fly out of range of most weapons. There would still be danger of course if the Finns and Germans had their own aircraft in the area. Which was likely. Luckily, Ivan fancied himself an excellent pilot, and was all too sure that he would win any dogfight he might get into.

And so he and his comrades had piled into their planes and made a quick takeoff. The majority of the planes were bombers. Heavier than Ivan’s fighter plane, and not as swift of motion. The bombers were their main form of attack, and the smaller, single-piloted planes like Ivan’s were mainly there to offer protection to them should there be any enemies in the air. Which Ivan was willing to bet his last bottle of vodka that there would be.

Reaching the outcropping of rocks where the Soviet ground units had retreated to did not take long. Flying in formation, Ivan spared a glance down at the forested area below. The Soviet positions were clearly visible at this height, as was the advancing Finnish units. A frown tugged at the corners of his pale lips for a moment as he noticed the black smoke from ruined Soviet tanks rising into the air. And then they were in perfect range, and the heavy bombers started unleashing vengeance on the Finnish units below.

Ivan had no idea where Finland himself was, if he was even present in the area. It would make sense if he were, but with their bosses sometimes calling them away from the battlefield, it was hard to be sure. In any case, he hoped that if Finland was down there, then he was in one of the armored tanks getting roasted by the dropped bombs.

As the chaos continued down below, a desperate message came through the Soviet nation’s radio system suddenly. The enemy was indeed also in the air, and heading straight for them. The sound of machine gun fire was quick to follow the message, the flying bullets from the enemy aircraft puncturing some of the metal on his I-15 even as Ivan broke formation and dropped altitude. The enemy fighters were quick to advance on his comrades, and Russia could only watch as the nearest bomber’s engines were taken out by the more nimble enemy aircraft. Of course, the Soviets returned fire and an all out aerial battle began.

Circling, Ivan was quick to attempt and tail the nearest enemy plane- which actually happened to be of German make. The enemy pilot tried to shake him by suddenly dropping altitude some more, but Ivan stayed with him. Lining the aircraft up as quickly as possible, Ivan opened fire with his own guns, striking the plane in the wing a few times as well as the engine. A gleeful smile soon spread on his boyish features as the enemy started to plummet towards the ground. Having been caught up in following the German plane, he failed to notice a different plane had swooped down behind his little I-15. A sharp pain in his upper arm was accented by the loud bang of the enemy machine guns.

There were planes everywhere, and he needed to lose the one behind him before he ended up having his own engine taken out. Instinctively, the flaxen-haired Soviet dropped into a dive toward the earth. His enemy did the same, and more machine gun fire tore through the plane. Holding onto the controls almost too tightly, Ivan was attempting to circle when a stream of bullets caught his plane in just the wrong spot.

Thick black smoke erupted from the engine and the plane gave a chocking stutter. Now the lose of altitude was not on purpose, and the sight of the ground drawing even closer made Ivan flinch in anticipation. But the enemy plane seemed to have considered him done for and turned away, so perhaps he would be able to crash land the fighter without dying in a fireball. It was worth a try, and Ivan wasted no time in attempting to slow the plane’s descend towards the raging battle below.

No matter what, crashing a plane was going to hurt. He only hoped he would be able to survive the crash and not be paying another visit to the boss anytime soon. Stalin was never impressed to see his country had failed in battle, and hearing him complain was not something Ivan enjoyed. As long as it seemed to him to take, the moment of impact was almost surreal. The plane had thankfully been low enough by the time the engine had been shot that it did not hit the ground hard enough to rip into a thousand pieces, but the crash was certainly rough, and enough to jostle Ivan around as the plane itself scraped the ground and then smashed into a destroyed tank. Having the landing gear out had done little to help, much to Ivan’s dismay. With the smoking plane finally at a stop, he started the task of painfully freeing himself from the metal, which had been shoved back towards him as the plane’s nose had smashed into the tank.

Stumbling from the wreckage with some new bruises and cuts, Ivan quickly attempted to duck behind a tree and draw his gun. There were Finns everywhere it seemed, and though he also saw some comrades ducking out of sight every now and then, there seemed to be dishearteningly more Finns than Russians around . Pulling his pistol out, Ivan peeked out from behind his tree and took aim at some Finns that were near a newly ruined tank that had clearly just been struck by an explosion. Adrenaline coursing through him, the Russian fired a few shots with an inappropriate gleefulness. If he had to be sore and on the ground, he at least wanted to take out as many Finns as possible.
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((Hope you guys can use that. The plane Ivan has is one of these: www.sciencephoto.com/image/363315/530wm/V3200234-Polikarpov_I-15,_Soviet_fighter,_1935-SPL.jpg ))

[Finland]

“We’re under attack!”

By the time the warning had been called out, Tino and his Finnish subordinates had grown used to working under their German commander, becoming an efficient and deadly machine despite even the greenness of two of the soldiers. Ludwig would call out the order to lock onto target in German and Tino would chirp back, “Identified,” nearly before the loader had time to get the shell into place. Mere seconds passed between the braking of the tank and the firing of the round, allowing them to destroy numerous tanks in a short amount of time.

They’d been doing well, taking ground inch by inch and watching the Russian troops be forced back. It was obvious that the Soviets had been caught off-guard, but it was not to last long. A few hours into the attack, the sky was flooded with a score of distant rumbles that became closer and closer rapidly. The ground began to shake as bombs were dropped, taking out chunks of earth and trees and the occasional Finnish soldier.

Time seemed to slow for Tino as bombs began falling around them, churning up the ground. One of the Finns, the loader, rambled in terrified hysterics.

“Are we going to die?! My family! Oh God! My family is—!”

The next thing Tino heard was a thunderous boom as the tank was swallowed up in a fiery, white-hot explosion. Fire, smoke and heat poured in through the vents as the left side of tank’s hull was crushed like a tin can. The Finnish nation was thrown against the wall of the tank, temporarily knocking him out of commission.

Curiously, before blacking out, he had time to wonder what would be the fate of his team. If he and Ludwig died, they would wake up a few hours later beside likely disappointed bosses, sore but in one piece and none the worse for the wear. It hardly mattered for them. The two others in the tank, however, could not possibly survive such a direct attack. The driver was dead. Through the darkness of the cockpit, Tino could see the blood pouring from his head and nose and knew by the unnatural angle of his neck that he would not live to see another morning. Such was the nature of war. He couldn’t see the loader as his vision flickered white and then black.

And then there was nothing.

Something deep in the recesses of Finland’s being told him that it wasn’t time to sleep, yet, and his eyes flickered open not long after the explosion had dissipated. Smoke and debris filled the air inside the tank, compounding with the heat and making it nearly unbreathable. Tino’s ears felt as if they were stuffed with cotton, deaf from the loud rumble of the bomb, but he could make out some kind of racket above him. It was a human voice, a whimper. Sore from whiplash, the gunner gingerly tilted his head back to look at the seat above him. The hatch was open and the loader was alive, miraculously, but his left arm was mangled beyond repair. The slate gray of his sleeve had been eaten away by fire and blood dripped from his elbow to the remainder of his fingers.

“My hand!” the soldier wailed. “It hurts! I’ve lost my arm! My arm!”

Tino, as loud as he could for his explosion-scorched throat, grumbled an annoyed, “Shut up. You’re alive, now get out of the tank. Now!”

He felt the young man moving to comply with his order, noticing for the first time that Ludwig was not in the tank.

Good. He’s alive.

After the soldier was out of his way, Tino shifted to make his own exit, crying out as he attempted to move his left foot. Straining to see through the dust and smoke in the cockpit, he was just able to make out that his ankle was wedged into a piece of metal that had popped inward, sufficiently trapping him. Taking a deep breath, he placed his right foot alongside the trapped one and pushed hard, wrenching himself free with a stifled grunt. His bones protested in burning pain, but he ignored them and climbed over the driver’s seat, past the dead body of the driver, and peered up through the hatch.

Tentatively, he scaled down the outside of the tank, able to take in the full extent of the damage once below it. There was a sick crunch of bone as he stepped down onto the ground and he cursed under his breath. His ankle was broken, but it could be repaired later. Still dazed, it took him a few moments to remember to search for Ludwig. The Finn located the other nation not too far off and was about to head over to him to assist when something warm and wet sprayed across his cheek. Senses numbed, it was only after he’d touched his face to see the red liquid left behind on his fingers that he realized there had been a bang moments before.

His loader collapsed onto the earth beside him, a hole from the back of his skull to his forehead draining on the ground. He’d been shot.

After ducking behind the wrecked StuG, Tino whipped out his pistol and turned in the direction from which the shot had come, eyes now sharp and scanning cautiously for Russian enemies. Certainly, he had not expected to lock gazes with someone familiar on the enemy’s side.

“Ivan..!”


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Short post, sorry~ I assumed from your post, Russia, that it was Lud and Tino's group that Ivan found crawling out of their recently destroyed tank. Since I've switched my colors, remember that the gray is Tino and the blue is the fodder characters.