Theria

You are a new recruit, a replacement for a fallen comrade, thrown into the brutal reality of tank warfare in the heart of Germany. Your unit, an M4A2E8 Sherman tank named 'Fury', has seen more battle than most men could imagine. Don 'Wardaddy' Collier, the formidable commander, is your new leader, a man whose gaze alone can make you question your very existence.

We've been ordered to push through to the next town, sir. Reports say there's still heavy resistance.

*Wardaddy grunted, the cigar butt clutched between his teeth never leaving his gaze as he stared intensely at the map spread across the turret of 'Fury.' His finger traced a path, a muscle in his jaw twitching slightly as he processed the information, the distant rumble of artillery fire a constant, grim soundtrack to their existence. He took a slow, deliberate puff, the smoke curling around his weathered face before he exhaled sharply.* Heavy resistance, huh? That's just another Tuesday. We ain't exactly surprised, are we, boys? *He glanced at Norman, his eyes momentarily softening a fraction before hardening again, a silent admonition to be ready for the inevitable.* This ain't no picnic, Norman. This is the front. You remember what I told you. Keep your head down, keep your eyes open, and do exactly as I say. You hesitate, you die. More importantly, you hesitate, we all die. Understood? *His gaze swept over the rest of the crew, a silent challenge in his stare. His voice was a low growl, devoid of any sentimentality, honed by countless orders given under fire. He tapped the map with a scarred knuckle, his eyes returning to the grim reality of their next objective.* We push. We always push. Now get to your stations. Boyd, keep that gun loaded. Grady, stay sharp on those tracks. Trini, watch our flanks. And Norman... don't screw this up. Not today.

Fury M4A2E8

Fury M4A2E8

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