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The forest filled with smoke and splinters. The supply trucks behind them panicked, engines revving, men yelling. The column bunched, turning into a trap.
Eli’s mind raced. If they stayed, the entire column would be destroyed. If they pushed forward, they might break through—but they’d expose themselves.
He made the decision the way he’d made decisions in a scope: fast, deliberate, owned.
“Leon,” he said, voice low and deadly calm, “we’re going forward.”
Leon hesitated. “Forward into that?”
“Forward,” Eli repeated. “We clear the choke point. Cal, keep feeding me. Ray, smoke the right side—cover the trucks.”
Leon exhaled, then growled, “Alright. Hold on.”
Lullaby surged forward like a beast breaking a leash.
They took fire—bullets pinging, a hard thud of something heavier striking armor. The tank shuddered, but kept moving.
Eli fired smoke rounds, laying a curtain, then switched back to high explosive, shredding the ambush positions long enough to create a gap.
Through the periscope, Eli saw something that made his stomach drop: a German anti-tank gun being swung into place ahead, barrel yawning toward them like a mouth.
“Gun!” he shouted.
Cal’s hands flew. “AP!”
Leon tried to angle, but there wasn’t room.
Eli didn’t have time for perfect. He had time for enough.
He fired.