"Forward!"
"We are The Alliance's indestructible spearhead!"
"We are an iron tide that sweeps away all opposition!"
"We are ready to offer up our hearts, ready at any moment to fulfill His Majesty the Administrator's ideals with our lives!"
"Advance on the airport!!!"
Engines roared as the Skeleton Corps aboard the trucks followed the howling yellow sands forward.
Half a body protruded from the desert-camouflaged steel turret.
Mole, clutching binoculars in his hands, gazed spiritedly at the horizon where yellow sand rolled in the distance, venting his excitement in that duck-like voice of his.
Even though the turret was hot enough to fry an egg, and even though standing so conspicuously had filled his mouth with sand, the guy, caught up in his excitement, still refused to climb down from the tank.
The other three crew members sat on the truck hauling the tank, listlessly chatting among themselves and paying no attention at all to Brother Mole's pumped-up speech.
Having played games together for so long, they had long since gotten used to this guy's performance art. He would settle down after a while.
"There's too little 155mm ammo. Why didn't they make a 120?"
"There's no production line for 120mm barrels, so they just used 155mm barrels."
"Fuck? That works?"
"Haha, you look just like a newbie right now."
"It's too hot. Sweating is annoying. We should've installed air conditioning in the tank."
Hearing his brothers' weak remarks, Mole lowered his binoculars and looked at them in dissatisfaction.
"What kind of nonsense is that? Too weak! Better to bring two more shells!"
The crew members: "..."
He had gone crazy.
The guy had become obsessed.
Thirty-five tanks were each carried by thirty-five trucks.
These twelve-wheeled heavy trucks were The Alliance's newest product, developed with assistance from the Silver Wing