[New Episodes!] Battle Pass Season 2: Stories

Normally, after each successful mission, the ride back was filled with joking, bantering, and battle stories. This time, the radios stayed silent.

Life on the frontline can turn total strangers into true brothers-in-arms. Even the loss of one tank feels devastating. Today, they had nearly lost an entire platoon.

It was clear that although he wasn't aware of what happened with Angela's platoon, Kilmore had gone too far. The "Demon" himself understood it perfectly. He also knew that he needed to support Angela. Even though he had never been much of an eloquent speaker, he tried his best to find the right words.

"What happened?"

"We went out at noon. Half an hour after you, according to plan. We were scouting the surrounding area."

Milotova had always been famous for her strength and courage, but this time even Kilmore wondered how she was able to speak so calmly and collected despite having lost her entire platoon.

"Suddenly, we came under intense fire from the woods. I think they were waiting for us to get close before springing the trap. The lead tank was destroyed right away. It didn't even have a chance to dodge. After the first shot, we split up and searched for cover. Eventually, it was three against four. What took place was a long, positional battle. And in the end, I was the only one left from my platoon."

"Why didn't you return straight to base?"

"I wanted to warn you about the ambush. I tried radioing you, but the radio was damaged, limiting my signal range. By the time I finally managed to pick up a signal, Badger was in my sights. Badger, I couldn't lose you too!"

"I owe you one, Angela!"

"As you were!"

Badger was not in Kilmore's platoon, but he kept silent all the way to base. "Demon" had full authority to give commands to everyone in the unit.

"Just remember this, Milotova. If my Patton's turret hadn't been so strong, we would have been picking up the pieces of your tank right about now. You wanted to save us from an ambush? You got yourself in trouble instead. You made a dumb rookie mistake. The battle isn't over until the last enemy's destroyed. We'll continue this conversation later."

"Demon's" platoon was considered elite. Every tanker on this side of the front line dreamed about joining it. But nobody had ever dared put themselves on par with "Demon's" soldiers.

"Who are you to think you're as good as my platoon?! Do you even know what my guys can do? They've done countless operations successfully without a single scratch! And you? The moment you enter a battle, we have to rescue you. You're not cut out for this, Milotova."

"I only did it to save my brothers-in-arms! You fight each battle like there's no tomorrow. But you're risking not just your own life, but your platoon's lives..."

"It's not the same!"

Kilmore abruptly cut off Angela in the middle of her emotional speech. Angela threw him a questioning look, expecting the Lieutenant to continue. But Kilmore had no intention of going into detail.

"I suppose that means you're finished."

Having heard both sides, the Company Commander finally spoke. Either he thought he'd heard enough or he wanted to avoid more questions from Angela.

"Sergeant Milotova, you really should have avoided taking such an action considering the situation. At the same time, thanks to your effort, Badger's crew and vehicle are intact. So thank you for your timely help."

"Lieutenant Kilmore, I'll ask you to take into account the present situation. Nearly an entire platoon was lost. Do not put even more pressure on your fellow tank commander. Milotova, all the platoons have already been formed, but let's see what we can do for you."

Kilmore started arguing, "But she may not make it back to base next time!"

"As you were! This conversation is finished. Dismissed!"

Milotova rushed to leave the Company Commander's office first, but before closing the door, she stated, "With all due respect, sir, I stopped being a medic a long time ago."

Since her early childhood, Milotova had known that she was born to save lives. From the very first day of service, it was her duty to bail out—or even bring back from the brink—those who were short on luck in battle. And she fully devoted herself to her life's work. This grew into a passion so strong that the desire to take the driver’s seat completely disappeared.

Until, one day, she brought a heavily-injured tanker to the infirmary. His state was critical, and no medication or treatment would hold off the inevitable. Barely conscious, he kept on repeating again and again: “We needed just one more tank...” This triggered the old thoughts. What if she could be that ‘one more tank’? What if preventing injuries on the battlefield is better than healing wounds on the operating table?

During yet another operation, Milotova was evacuating the crew out of a damaged allied tank, when suddenly her own vehicle–and the rest of her crew inside it–was destroyed by an artillery salvo. Any other person would have lost their head, but not Angela. She instantly took control of the allied tank and retreated from the battlefield with its wounded crew. She had finally found a proper use for the skills she had learned years ago.

It was a true feat, which granted Angela a medal for bravery in battle. But it also became a turning point in her life. Losing her whole team left her at a crossroads, and she finally decided to follow her father's path. On the back of his reputation, Angela managed to complete training for the tank driver role. And she knew exactly whose platoon she wanted to join, no matter how long it would take.

By an unfortunate coincidence, just a few days later, Ramirez, who had already recovered from his injuries, received a letter from his home. His beloved grandmother had passed away; the person who he was closest to, and his only remaining bond with ordinary life.

"I don't know what to do now. I have no one left on the civvies street.'

"Take a leave of absence; go get some rest."

"And then what? Live a lame life, drink painkillers and die of boredom? No, chief, that's not me. I belong on the frontline–war is the only thing I can do. So I’ll fight till I’m done."

This led Kilmore to an idea that solve both Ramirez’s and his own problem. He formed a small platoon that included only two tanks: the ‘Pipeline’ and the Sheridan.

Their crews were elite—all natural-born warriors, fighting as if each battle was their last. They didn't care who their enemy was. The most important thing was to wipe out as many enemy tanks as possible.

The platoon’s name was nothing but generic: "Kilmore’s Cavalry". But as time passed, everyone started calling them "Hellhounds" for their complete fearlessness and ability to take on the most complex and reckless combat missions.

"You know how I select guys for the crew. It’s our common crew, by the way, don't forget that."

"I haven't. And since I have a voice, I must ask."

"You can try."

"How about making an exception?"

Kilmore smiled, shaking his head.

"No, no, no. I appreciate your concern, my dear friend Ramirez, but this happening for the second time… I couldn’t handle it. It’s not just about "special criteria". You see..."

Kilmore came to a halt in the middle of the phrase. Ramirez saw how uncomfortable his commander had become. But Damon gathered himself and continued.

"It’s her character. She's just like my son. I won't forgive myself if she ends up the way he did."

Ramirez had expected anything but such a confession.

"I understand, Pipe. On the other hand, maybe someday she'll save you and me, just like she saved Badger..."

Kilmore just sat there looking for an answer, until suddenly, he stood up as if there had never been a moment of weakness:

"We’ll see. Right, time for the briefing. Get up, fatty."

In the meantime, so that Milotova didn't have to sit around doing nothing, the Company Commander formed a new platoon under her command.

There was only one condition: the two other tanks were rookie crews she had to train and command.

That meant no combat missions. This didn't please Milotova, since it prevented her from keeping her promise to save lives. But on the other hand, at least it would keep her busy. Besides, she now had her own platoon and could prepare the kids for the real thing.

This had another consequence: Angela stopped requesting a transfer to Kilmore's platoon. Damon was furious. Not only did the Company Commander not disqualify Milotova from service, but he had even given her a platoon to command!

Eventually, he calmed down and came to terms with the decision. Angela was no longer able to get in his way during combat missions. And she was relatively safe working with her "nursery".

The rumors were that a certain Mikey Branson, a young and promising tanker, had taken the driver's seat of a vehicle the day before the mission.

Kilmore had been restless. He couldn't sleep, trying to foresee all the possible scenarios of the operation. In the end, everything had gone wrong because of bad intelligence. Only Kilmore and Ramirez had made it out alive.

"Now, who was that Mikey? From what I heard, he was some relative of Kilmore's. But I don't know for certain. Their last names are different and they didn't look alike. Anyways, Milotova, what's in this for you? Us mere mortals will never make it into his platoon. Just deal with it."

Milotova sat frozen with surprise. A man who had never said anything good to her had suddenly spoken first. A short pause followed.

"Not bad. Got home with no casualties."

"I saw that Storm now has two scratches on its turret. Was it a Grille again?"

"Wait, how did you know? You weren't there."

"I didn't need to be. Among the folks we’re dealing with here, no other vehicle could leave such a mark. You're lucky it hit you at that angle. Did you expose your turret?"

"I had to draw it out while the guys were flanking it…"

"Angela, you’re not on some mere recon training mission anymore. I can use my turret to deflect shells. You can't, not with your 'Czech'. You've got a magazine full of shells and excellent speed. Wait until they start to reload, then race forward and engage them, guns blazing. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good... Hey! Ramirez! Stop right there, amigo! Where do you think you're going without me?"

With that, Kilmore left just as suddenly as he'd arrived. Milotova sat there for a while, reflecting on the lieutenant's behavior.

The Company Commander's service was coming to a close. A seasoned veteran of tank battles, he was preparing for retirement and a long-awaited homecoming. His main goal was to find someone from the unit to take his place. And only two people were suitable for the position.

Angela understood it would be the most important battle of her career. To earn his respect, she had to surpass her teacher who she had always looked up to, and who had never acknowledged the achievements she had earned during her career.

Kilmore was ready for it. Most importantly, he was on a first-name basis with the Company Commander, and they had come to an agreement beforehand.

Milotova, who in her mind was already saving her comrades, flared up in anger at these words.

"Stop patronizing me! I've proved several times that I can fight. Why are you the only one who doesn't believe in me? You can't make decisions for everyone. …Or is this about 'that' operation? I heard about that battle. It wasn't your fault it turned out that way. It could have happened to any..."

"He was my son! I lost my son there! He died because of me. Don't you understand? Because of me!"

For the first time, Angela understood Damon’s true motives. It was neither condescendence nor arrogance. It was a father’s care. But she couldn't back down now.

"I'm not your daughter," she stated before saluting, taking the mission dossier, and leaving.

Kilmore soon found out that he and Milotova would have to fight together in the same area of the front. Damon couldn’t change this, so he went back to his room, studied the map of the area and intelligence reports, re-read everything several times, and then fell asleep at his desk—just like he had done before "that battle".

Ramirez woke him up in the morning. Kilmore was furious at himself for falling asleep, thinking that he could have spent the time calculating everything down to the smallest detail.

Something had to be done, so Kilmore called for help. Milotova responded and rushed to Pipeline's position, but she encountered two enemy medium tanks. Kilmore was already regretting his call for help. He sent his platoon on a suicidal counterattack to draw the enemy's fire towards himself.

Their forces were unequal. Ramirez's vehicle was damaged. Kilmore saw Milotova's vehicle take a hit; his own vehicle was hit. He tried to contact Milotova.

Silence. A few remaining enemy vehicles were still intact, but all allies had been disabled.

The enemy was preparing to finish them off.

Kilmore climbed out the hatch and, limping, walked towards Storm and the enemies. He drew his gun and started firing at the enemy in desperation.

One shot.

A second shot.

A third.

Then an explosion. A jet’s shadow swept over the ground next to Kilmore. Both remaining enemy tanks just had been destroyed by an airstrike; Kilmore and Milotova's platoons survived. But Storm and Pipeline had taken significant damage and would need considerable repairs.

"But I have no one to return to either. My father is dead. My ambulance crew was killed. I have no one; no one will mourn for me!"

"First of all, no one will mourn for you because nothing will happen to you. You are a top tanker, Milotova. You’re reckless sometimes, but you’re an ace. And what's this about 'mourning'? Don't talk nonsense. Everyone here loves you. You're dear to them."

"What about you?"

"You’re dear to me, too."

At that moment, Karl Vojtěch, an engineer and a friend of Angela's father, emerged from the garage.

"Lieutenant Kilmore, Pipeline is good to go. The fuel tanks are full."

"Thanks, Karl. I'm on my way."

"On your way where?" Angela asked, not understanding what was going on.

"We're being transferred. This is your unit now, Milotova. Well deserved."

Kilmore patted Angela on the shoulder. But before she could form a coherent sentence, he had already walked to Pipeline, climbed in, and driven out of the garage.