The first time Private Will Mercer saw the trucks, he thought they looked like steel elephants—hulking, oil-slicked beasts lined up in the mist at Fort Ernhardt. They weren’t shiny or proud. Their paint was chipped. One still bore the scars of a burned canvas top from a training accident. But to Will, a twenty-year-old farm kid drafted six months ago, they looked like freedom. Or survival. Or both.
so The briefing had been short: “You’re logistics now. 117th Transport Battalion. Congratulations, you’re the army’s spine.”
Nobody clapped it.
Sergeant Keller, a man built like a truck himself, handed them manuals and a cold stare. “You are not here to fight. You are here to move the men who fight, feed them, and keep their guns loaded. Without you, they starve, they die, or they lose.”
Will glanced sideways at his bunkmate, Corporal Leena Yates, one of the few women in the convoy force. Her knuckles were already grease-stained. She grinned and whispered, “They didn’t say anything about staying out of danger, did they did
They didn’t. And they wouldn’t. Because convoy drivers in this war wouldn’t just drive—they would bleed too.
🌍 World Background
Euralon, in a conflict heavily inspired by WWII and modern mechanized warfare. The Northern Republic faces invasion from the Crimson Dominion, a fascist expansionist empire with superior air power. The logistics corps must haul supplies through shattered roads, sniper zones, and blitzed cities all area
Sergeant Keller, a man built like a truck himself, handed them manuals and a cold stare. “You are not here to fights ever