Luka’s thunder run : Interstate 5, August 22nd

I glanced at the watch on my wrist. 1139… the radio set crackled and I turned up the volume of my headset. I glanced around at the several other tanks waiting idly by and the fuel trucks sitting a few hundred yards back, fuel hoses and soldiers running between vehicles with wild abandon.

"General Luka, my battalion is ready to advance!" I laughed, a bit of excitement coursing through my veins.

"Good! Forward!" I shouted, I waved my arm, signaling all the drivers around me to start the advance. The engine of my trusty T-72 roared as the venerable tank shifted into gear, quickly gathering speed. The hot sweltering California sun beat down from above, not a cloud in the sky.

Nothing was going to stop me, not some stupid American, nor this forsaken Sun. I'd promised General Reichenbacher ten hours. By God I'd see it done.

Just a few tanks ahead of me was the very front of the column. The lead tanks, all equipped with mine clearing gear. The only thing they were clearing were cars left abandoned in the middle of my highway.

A van, picked up and cast to the side. The lead tank plowed straight through a bus, sending it skidding into the central barriers. On both sides of the highway the 4th advanced, armored tracks and guns loaded. I only cursed that my tanks were stuck at their blistering top speed of 37 miles an hour.

We raced under the overpass at Glendale, the mountains rising up on our left. The occasional zombie or reaver stepped out onto the highway, quickly cut down by streams of tracers from the coaxial machine guns. We passed some sprawling golf course built upon the mountainside on our left, the Los Angeles river quickly forming on our right as we continued our trek. We passed over the river as it curved to the west, the second tank from the front sending a ugly sedan into the river.

Ahead a small horde covered the highway as it passed through Burbank. I reached down, grabbing the mic when the lead tank's cannon roared, a high explosive round slamming into something in that horde solid enough to make it explode tracers stitched the horde. Several other tanks fired, ripping large chunks from the horde, but there were enough. Not all of them were being killed fast enough.

"Secure hatches! Do not stop!" I shouted into my mic as I dropped into the crowded turret of my tank, slamming my hatch closed, tightening it shut. I glanced through the vision ports, watching as the lead tank slammed into the horde, bloody gore flying, painting the road, tracks, and mine plows a dark red as the tank continued onwards.

Soon enough zombies were crawling up onto the tank. "Gunner, spray the lead tank with your MG!" The turret slewed slightly, our tracers reached out, some ricocheting off the back of the lead tank's turret, but others found their mark, zombies and Reavers fell off the tank like flies.

The Column was now crossing over some railroad tracks, some ugly blue box store across the way. I glanced behind me, seeing dozens of more tanks racing to keep pace, and far behind them was several BTRs, infantry standing from the top hatches, firing light machine guns at the horde as they passed.

We passed by an airport on our left… likely the hollywood burbank airport. There just wasn't enough room in this turret for me to unroll my maps, much less with it bumping and jostling around as it rammed cars, vans, and trucks off the road. I peered ahead through the cupula and not seeing anything ahead slowly cracked the hatch, pulling myself up to breath the slightly cooler outside air.

A roar of engines alerted me to the low flyover of a pair of Su-25, wings laden with bombs. A smile crept over my face as they dropped them either side of the highway ahead, large rolling clouds of smoke and fire reaching for the skies.i grabbed the coax MG and swung it around to face forward of the tank, raking the bolt back and chambering a round.

Just ahead the interstate merged with some other highway in some massive stupid jungle of concrete. Not like that was any confusion to me, we just needed to continue plowing our way north. The column started roaring under the bridges of the other highway merging with the interstate.

The interstate more or less straightened out, ahead I could see the pass we'd been taking through the mountains, over that pass. Santa Clarita, and the first stopping point. Not that I wanted to stop, but these T-72s guzzled fuel by the gallon and it was simpler and faster to top off the tanks every 30 to 50 miles or so than to wait until they were almost empty.

Besides, it's not like the whole column was going to stop… no no, behind us traveling behind the fuel trucks was the next battalion, they'd keep pushing forward as we stopped at the junction at Caustic Lagoon, and then we'd leapfrog them while they stopped at Wheeler ridge.

The pass arrived far too soon, or perhaps it was that way due to the adrenaline in my veins. The engines roared as the tanks raced up the pass, ahead I could see the large grade the division would have to climb after the Santa Clarita. I whistled softly to myself. I grabbed my binoculars, scanning the highway. It didn't look like there were too many vehicles on the road, most had veered off the to side, fetched up on the concrete barriers.

The column began to slow, angling for the exits, a trio of tanks advancing to completely clear the off and on ramps. Once they were cleared the column began lining up on the side of the road. The infantry dismounted from the BTRs clearing nearby buildings.

On the bridge a column of tanks continued rumbling on. I smiled slightly , watching as my driver opened his hatch, pulling himself out to expose his torso. I waited, occasionally glancing at my watch while I watched the new vanguard of the division slowly push up the pass. A column of fuel trucks raced past on the bridge. I nodded, watching as my soldiers raced north, barely two hours had passed, we'd covered more than forty miles so far.

A bit behind schedule… I grunted, glancing up as several fuel trucks came to a stop in the middle of the road, the soldiers hopping out and quickly creating a makeshift fuel depot as they ran hoses and opened fuel valves. The tanks slowly made their way through the fuelers.

As soon as our tanks were filled we rolled out by platoons, rejoining the main column while other units began queuing for fuel. I sat in my seat, enjoying the wind blowing in my face as we climbed the grade, the valley floor falling away below us.

Ahead I could see the Division winding its way into the mountains, behind me I could make out thousands of vehicles stretching as far back as Sulphur springs. The burnt orange sand slowly gave way to shrubbery and greenery as I neared the crest of the pass. The mountains looked beautiful, I wondered briefly if the Urals were this pretty. Perhaps someday I'd get the privilege to see them.