The First Tank Battle

April 13th.

Kwoaaang—!

A tank shattered into countless pieces with a deafening explosion. As the Doicheun Empire’s tank broke apart and burst into flames, the soldiers of the Noria Empire cheered wildly. Yet, their cheers were premature.

Kurrreung—!

The rumbling engines of incoming tanks filled the air—at least 130 of them. This northwestern region of the Moria Empire was hard and arid terrain, the kind of land that made tanks even deadlier.

The earlier explosion had been caused by nothing more than an improvised bomb. As there were no anti-tank mines yet, the Moria army had no choice but to rely on makeshift explosives to halt the advancing machines.

The tanks pressed forward relentlessly across the barren earth. Artillery shells screamed through the air but rarely hit their mark; the tanks moved constantly, and their movements were unpredictable.

They knew that a straight advance meant certain destruction by artillery fire, so they zigzagged deliberately. The Moria soldiers fired rifles and machine guns frantically, but the bullets could not pierce the tanks’ thick armor.

Like iron walls, the tanks advanced with confidence—machine guns blazing and cannons roaring from both sides, bombarding everything in sight. Such power explained why the Moria Empire had continued to lose its territory.

Kukung! Kung! Toodoodoodoodoo—!

Even in the skies, dogfights raged endlessly. Among the aircraft, some were painted in different colors—a system of distinction. They were planes sold by the neutral Polia Kingdom, each nation repainting them in chosen colors to mark their own.

It was a primitive identification system, with each side selecting two colors and painting them barely thirty minutes before sorties. Without it, the enemy could easily mimic the same colors.

The skies burned as fighters exchanged machine-gun fire, clipping wings and tails to send each other crashing to the ground. One after another, fireballs descended onto the battlefield below.

Most of the downed aircraft were of Polian make. Their slower speed often left them vulnerable to tail attacks and bullet storms. Still, when outnumbered enemies pursued, allied pilots sometimes shot down their pursuers in return.

Despite that, the war’s tide still favored the Doicheun Empire. The Moria front—and even the Noma front—was collapsing under the same pattern. Tanks had rendered trench warfare obsolete as an effective defense.

Yet even without trenches, casualties did not decrease. In fact, more soldiers were dying—forced into suicidal charges to breach enemy defenses.

The number of fallen men was staggering. Over two million troops had been deployed to this single front—only a portion of the total forces, yet still a colossal number pressing forward.

The thunder of cannons roared as Doicheun soldiers, faces twisted with fury, charged across the cratered earth. They wanted this dreadful, chaotic war to end—fast.

“Let’s win this already!”

“Once we take it, we can go home!”

“Kill those Moria bastards!”

“I’ll make it home alive!”

Victory seemed within reach. Their tanks, the reliable steel vanguard, always led the charge, and victory always followed. The morale was high, while the Moria troops, pale and trembling, prepared to retreat.

No—they couldn’t retreat this time. Orders from above demanded they hold their positions at all costs. Officers on the front lines were furious. Holding ground against tanks meant nothing but slaughter.

“Why the hell aren’t we retreating!?”

“The command only says to hold our ground, sir!”

“Damn it! Why change the plan now?!”

“Sir! Enemy tanks approaching—frontline range!”

“Use the field guns! Stop them!”

“We’re firing, sir! But the shots aren’t landing!”

Their field guns had the power to penetrate tank armor—up to 70 mm of steel—but accuracy was a nightmare.

Artillery shells traveled in arcs, and even with the barrels angled steeply, the heavy guns were too slow to turn quickly. From their rear positions, they had to fire at least three kilometers away, making precise hits almost impossible—especially against erratic targets.

Even so, some tanks were destroyed through sheer persistence.

Still, with over a hundred tanks closing in, the pressure on the front was overwhelming. The enemy spread out across the open battlefield, using the terrain effectively rather than clumping together.

Moria soldiers screamed as they pulled their triggers, but sparks bounced harmlessly off the steel behemoths. Some tied grenades together and hurled them, only to be gunned down before the explosives landed.

Just as the Moria line was about to collapse, new engine sounds emerged from behind their ranks—something unheard until now. Out from the smoke rolled the Frei Tank, a model developed by the Polia Kingdom.

With its rotating turret and angular body, it looked smaller yet sleeker than the Doicheun “Gangria” tanks. Weighing around fifteen tons and armed with a 40 mm cannon, it was no less formidable.

Forty of these Frei tanks had arrived—every single one the Moria Empire had purchased from Polia. Originally sixty had been ordered, but twenty were lost when a submarine attack sank their transport ship.

Since Noma’s seas were blockaded by the Doicheun Navy, the only delivery route was through Moria’s southern coast—where the remaining tanks were unloaded and dragged straight to the front.

Their arrival marked a turning point for the Moria forces. Communication lines confirmed their identity, and the Moria flag was painted boldly on their hulls.

Cheers erupted among the weary troops. The difference between fighting with and without tanks was immeasurable. For weeks, they had felt helpless before the enemy’s armor—now, they finally had their own.

Few soldiers knew these machines came from the Polia Kingdom; only the officers had heard rumors of Polian tank production. None expected deployment this soon.

The appearance of the Frei marked the dawn of the first true tank battle. Neither side’s armor could fully withstand direct hits yet—their alloys were primitive, built only to repel bullets. But the Frei had one great advantage: its rotating turret.

Unlike the Doicheun tanks, which had to turn their entire hulls to aim, Polian tanks could rotate their turrets independently while on the move—granting faster reaction and wider firing arcs.

Still, accuracy while moving was poor. Most tanks had to stop before landing a clean shot—but being able to stop and fire first was itself a major edge.

Boom!

A 40 mm shell tore through a Gangria tank’s armor, silencing it instantly as flames erupted inside.

The victorious Frei pivoted to seek another target. But before it could fire, a storm of bullets hammered its armor, shaking it violently. Its vision ports cracked, blinding its crew—but the tank’s armor held firm.

Despite being lighter, the Frei’s plating was resilient enough to deflect small-arms fire. Its front-mounted machine gun barked in response, firing back at approaching enemies.

Bang!

A shell slammed into the Frei’s flank, blowing a hole through it. It had been caught by a Gangria tank’s cannon as it turned. The Frei was silenced in flames—but another Polian tank immediately avenged it, firing and destroying its killer.

The battlefield turned into a chaotic brawl of mutual cannon fire and machine-gun bursts. Yet, numbers decided the outcome—the Frei tanks were outnumbered more than two to one. The Moria Empire lost the first tank battle.

Even so, the shock to the Doicheun Empire was immense. For the first time, an opponent fielded tanks capable of countering theirs. Their unstoppable advance had been checked.

With many of their tanks destroyed, the Doicheun high command reeled. The Moria Empire, encouraged by this outcome, immediately begged the Polia Kingdom to sell more tanks.

Before the Great War, such begging would’ve been unthinkable—but desperation left no pride. Prince Ian approved the sale of sixty additional tanks originally reserved for Polia’s own army.

They wouldn’t need them for ground combat soon, and Moria paid double the original price without hesitation. Thus, sixty more Polian tanks were sold and transported—this time escorted by a naval convoy to ensure safety.

In response, the Doicheun Navy dispatched fleets to block these supply routes, leading to a massive buildup of warships in the sea between Doicheun and Polia.

To prevent any battle from spilling into Polian waters, Prince Ian ordered three fleets to patrol and secure their maritime borders. The Doicheun Navy had no choice but to menace the Moria convoys from beyond.

Meanwhile, cargo ships of the Magnia Empire—transporting more tanks—sailed defiantly. Having previously lost ships to Doicheun attacks, Magnia had already issued a stern warning that any further aggression would be seen as an act of war.

Though Magnian merchants were terrified after earlier losses, the imperial envoy in Polia seemingly issued orders ensuring deliveries continued—suggesting Magnia’s leadership had made a firm decision to retaliate economically.

This time, all tanks reached Moria safely—likely thanks to Magnia’s prior diplomatic protests. But how long such peace would last was uncertain.

At this moment, the Doicheun Empire shifted strategy. Unable to stop Polia’s sales to Moria, it instead sought to buy Polian tanks for itself—intending to reduce Moria’s share by purchasing in bulk.

Naturally, this delighted the Polia Kingdom. Orders flooded in, forcing the expansion of its tank factories.

At the same time, Doicheun restructured its forces—reducing its presence on the Moria front while deploying more tanks northward against the Noma Empire, whose frozen wastelands soon became the next massive front.

The Noma Empire poured in troops to resist—soon reaching nine million soldiers. Yet the frozen lands themselves became a wall, slowing the Doicheun advance to a brutal, grinding halt.