Chapter 2.1: New Encounter 2

A few of the villagers subtly shuffled backward, trying to put distance between themselves and the machine.

"That thing could crush the whole village..." one of them muttered, his voice trembling.

Garrick raised a hand slightly, calming his people without even breaking eye contact with Vladimir. Then, he looked back at the German commander.

"You came... from where?" Garrick asked. He spoke much slower this time, pronouncing each syllable with deliberate clarity, trying to meet Vladimir halfway. "North? South? Mountains?" He gestured vaguely toward the jagged peaks cutting into the distant horizon.

Behind Vladimir, the tank sat like a silent, resting predator. Inside the hull, the crew remained utterly vigilant. Karl still had his crosshairs perfectly aligned, Werner hadn't moved an inch, and Dieter watched the unfolding interaction through his narrow optic.

"...They don't seem like they want to kill us, Kommandant," Dieter whispered into his throat mic, half-nervous, half-intrigued.

Hans replied flatly, "Neither do we. Yet."

Back on the field, Garrick took one careful, measured step forward. It wasn't an aggressive movement, but a calculated negotiation.

"You say... safe," Garrick continued, nodding slightly toward the idling titan. Then, his voice grew firm, dropping into a deeper register. "That thing... is not safe for us." He paused, his gaze boring into Vladimir's unreadable eyes. "...You understand?"

There it was. It wasn't an act of war; it was a boundary line drawn in the dirt.

The villagers behind Garrick watched the exchange with breathless curiosity. One small child peeked out from behind an adult's leather coat, wide-eyed as they stared directly at Vladimir's sharp, unfamiliar features and well-tailored uniform.

"...Is that a boy or a girl...?" the child whispered innocently.

"Quiet," the adult hushed instantly, pulling the child back.

Garrick exhaled slowly, grounding himself. "If you are lost... you need food, water, direction," he said, before his eyes flicked sharply to the tank's long, menacing main gun. "But not with that... pointing at us."

He didn't shout it as a demand. It was a line drawn by a leader protecting his people.

"Call it down."

Inside the tank, the words faintly echoed through the open commander's hatch, and Dieter's voice crackled over the internal net. "...I don't like his tone."

"I don't like being aimed at either," Karl shot back, his thumb still hovering near the trigger block. "Goes both ways."

"Unders-stood," Vladimir replied aloud to Garrick.

Without giving room for hesitation, Vladimir turned his back on the village and walked back toward his tank. The moment he turned around, a violent spike of adrenaline rippled through the villagers. Several tensed hard, and one younger man even raised his spear halfway, preparing to strike but Garrick snapped his hand out, physically blocking the man without breaking his gaze from Vladimir's retreating form.

"Wait," Garrick ordered sharply.

All eyes followed Vladimir as he easily scaled the sloped armor of the seventy-ton metal beast. From the villagers' perspective, it was like watching a man casually mount the back of a sleeping dragon. Vladimir stood atop the superstructure, opened the heavy cupola hatch, and leaned down into the darkness of the turret.

"Karl, turn the turret around," Vladimir ordered through his throat mic, his voice leaving absolutely no room for complaint. "They don't like it staring at them. Just do it."

"Zu Befehl, Kommandant," Karl muttered.

Vladimir climbed back out and sat calmly on the edge of the turret roof as the tank's hydraulic traverse engaged.

**WHRRRRRRRRRR.**

The massive turret began to rotate. It was a slow, heavy, and terrifyingly deliberate mechanical groan.

An instant wave of panic ripped through the village line.

"It's moving!"

"Get back!"

"Is it attacking?!"

A couple of the spear-wielding men stumbled backward in terror, one nearly tripping over his own boots. But as they braced for the worst, the massive 8.8cm barrel passed completely over them and kept going. It rotated a full one hundred and eighty degrees until it was pointing harmlessly toward the empty hills behind the tank.

**CLUNK.**

Silence fell over the field once more—thick, heavy, and filled with utter disbelief.

Inside the hull, Karl exhaled sharply through his nose, releasing the controls. "Well... that's one way to make friends."

Werner muttered, "Feels wrong not aiming at something."

Dieter snorted quietly into his mic. "Yeah? Try aiming at nothing for once. It's a revolutionary concept."

"The Kommandant is playing a different game," Hans noted quietly, keeping the Maybach engine at a steady, rhythmic purr.

Outside, Vladimir slid down the side of the hull and hit the grass. He walked back toward the group, step by step, exactly as he had before. This time, however, the villagers didn't retreat. The raw panic had ebbed away.

When he stopped a few paces away, Vladimir looked at Garrick and asked a single, broken word: "Good?"

Garrick studied the German commander for a long, agonizing moment, weighing the gesture. Then, slowly and deliberately, he lowered the point of his spear toward the ground. He didn't disarm completely, but it was enough.

"...Better," Garrick admitted.

A collective, audible breath escaped the crowd behind him. The suffocating tension finally eased.

Garrick nodded once, a faint spark of respect in his weathered eyes. "You listen," he said. "That's good." He paused, gesturing lightly toward the thatched roofs behind him. "The name of this place... is Edrin Hollow. I am Garrick."

His eyes flicked one last time toward the silent, reversed tank before settling back on Vladimir's uniform.

"You..." Garrick said, putting a slight, uncertain emphasis on the word, clearly unable to categorize what kind of soldier or person stood before him. "...you are far from anything you know."

It wasn't spoken with dramatic flair. It was a cold, hard fact. Garrick took in Vladimir's rigid, military posture and the absolute lack of fear in his eyes. The math didn't add up, but that wasn't a problem for today.

"You said lost," Garrick continued, his expression grounding into something more hospitable. A beat passed before Garrick's voice called. "You hungry?"

Vladimir nodded back to show that he was indeed hungry.

"Wait," he added quickly, raising a hand to halt the transition before turning around. He marched back to the Tiger, scaling the hull once more and leaning deep into the open commander's cupola.

"Hans, park the tank over by the village wall and kill the engine. Everyone, scramble out," Vladimir ordered, his voice echoing in the metallic interior. "We've been granted safe passage... hopefully. Bring your sidearms just in case, but keep them secured in their holsters. Don't draw unless I do."

"Zu Befehl, Kommandant," Hans replied.

The heavy V12 engine roared to life one final time, the massive tracks groaning as Hans maneuvered the seventy-ton beast to the side, settling it safely near the wooden perimeter wall of the settlement. The engine died, sputtering out into a ringing silence.

One by one, the crew began to climb out of their respective hatches. The moment the tank had shifted, even just to park, the villagers had tensed out of sheer instinct. But this time, no one raised a weapon. They just watched. Carefully. Warily.

As the crew dropped onto the soil, that wariness deepened.

"There's more of them..."

"They were inside it...?"

"How many can that iron thing carry...?"

Garrick didn't move an inch. He didn't flinch, but his eyes sharpened significantly, counting and assessing each man. Five total. One was clearly the leader. The others? They weren't mere followers. They walked, moved, and breathed like soldiers. That much was obvious, even without understanding their language.

Hans stepped forward slightly, his posture rigid but unthreatening. Dieter glanced around anxiously, cataloging every possible angle of danger. Werner gave a brief look at the villagers before locking eyes with Vladimir, a silent ask of 'Are we good?' which Vladimir with a silent reply said 'Yes'. Karl stayed a half-step behind the rest, his sharp eyes focused and hyper-alert.

Without a word being spoken, they formed a protective, natural perimeter around Vladimir. It was an instinct drilled into them through years of brutal warfare in the eastern front.

Vladimir turned back to Garrick, pointing at each member of his crew. "My... M-Men," he stated, his English stiff.

Then, Vladimir did something none of his crew expected. He pulled off his peaked officer's cap, held it against his chest, and offered a slight, respectful bow to the village elder. "T-Thank you... well..."

It wasn't a perfect, polished gesture, but the intent translated flawlessly across the language barrier. Respect.

Garrick watched the bow closely. After a tense moment, the hard lines of his face softened, and he nodded. "...You learn quickly," he murmured.

Behind the elder, the atmosphere shifted entirely. Curiosity was finally starting to outweigh fear. A few villagers leaned over fences, trying to get a better look at the strange, gray-clad men.

"They dress like soldiers..."

"But not from any kingdom I've ever seen..."

Garrick gestured broadly toward the center of the thatched roofs. "Come."

Simple. Direct.

As the five tankers began to walk, a couple of armed villagers stepped aside to give them a wide berth. Children peeked out from behind wooden posts, their eyes wide with wonder. One brave young boy took a step closer to inspect Werner’s uniform before an adult gently but firmly yanked him back.

Dieter leaned slightly toward Hans, muttering out of the corner of his mouth, "...So we're just walking straight into this, yeah?"

Hans replied calmly, "The Kommandant trusts it. That's enough for me."

"If it goes bad, we're faster than they are anyway," Werner added quietly, his hand resting casually near his belted holster. Karl remained entirely silent, his eyes moving like a hawk's.

As they walked deeper into Edrin Hollow, the layout became clearer. It was a small, rough settlement, but deeply lived-in. Cooking fires sent pleasant aromas into the morning air, basic agricultural tools leaned against walls, and the rhythms of routine daily life were scattered everywhere. It wasn't a military outpost. It wasn't a trap. At least... not an obvious one.

Garrick led them toward a larger, central hut constructed of thick timber and mud-brick. He stopped at the threshold, turning around to face Vladimir.

"You and your men eat here," the elder said, pausing to let Vladimir process the words. Then, his tone grew heavy and grounded. It wasn't hostile, but it carried the weight of an absolute boundary. "But understand... we help you because you came in peace...Keep it that way."

A heavy beat passed between the two leaders. Then, as if testing the waters of this strange new alliance, Garrick asked a final question.

"You have a name?"

"N-Name?" Vladimir repeated the word, nodding in confirmation as the concept clicked.

"Vladimir, me," he said, gesturing to himself. He then turned slightly, pointing to each of his crew members in turn. "Hans. Karl. Werner. Dieter."

"You?" Vladimir asked, turning his gaze back to the older man, prompting for his name.

"Garrick," the leader replied, repeating it clearly so the foreign commander could grasp it.

With the introductions settled, Garrick led them inside a modest, sturdy wooden home. The interior was simple, smelled of pine and smoke, and was entirely devoid of modern luxuries. The five tankers sat down around a heavy timber table, their large frames and structured uniforms making the room feel incredibly small. Within minutes, they were served warm food in rough clay bowls. Garrick quietly took a seat directly across from them, observing.

As the other four dug into their meals with the ravenous appetite of frontline soldiers, Vladimir cleared his throat. He spoke sharply in German, his voice dropping into a low, commanding tone.

"Eat like guests, not pigs," he warned them.

Instantly, Werner slowed his spoon, Karl adjusted his posture, and Dieter wiped his mouth, all of them suddenly hyper-aware of how they were presenting themselves to their host.

Vladimir then looked back across the table, his unreadable eyes meeting Garrick's weathered stare. He leaned forward slightly, gesturing between the two of them.

"You... Questions... I assume?" Vladimir asked, his broken English cutting straight through the quiet of the room.

Garrick nodded in return and asked with a straight tone. "What exactly is *that* sitting outside our walls?"

Vladimir sighed, took a deep breath, and sighed again, mentally preparing himself for the exhausting task of explaining their situation—in a language that felt heavy and awkward on his tongue.

"Thing is vehicle," Vladimir plainly stated, keeping his words as simple as possible. "Our vehicle. Does many things." He moved on to the elder's observation about them being soldiers, offering a sharp, single nod. 

"...Vehicle," Garrick repeated slowly, glancing briefly toward the heavy wooden door, as if he could see the steel giant resting outside through the timber. His expression made it clear he didn't fully comprehend the nature of the machine, but for now, he accepted it.

Garrick nodded in return, accepting Vladimir's answer before he moved on to his next question. "Are you at war? Your clothes say so."

He paused, a flicker of grim solemnity crossing Vladimir's features. "Well... yes, but. Not anymore."

When Vladimir confirmed that they were soldiers, Garrick’s eyes didn’t harden into hostility; instead, they focused with an analytical intensity. But it was Vladimir's next words, *not anymore*, that drew the longest pause from the man.

He leaned back slightly, trying to string together the impossible sequence of events that had brought them here. "We... woke up. To this place. Don't know. Foreign. Wandering for... many days now. Survived with rations."

Garrick listened without interrupting, his posture entirely still. He examined every broken word, every heavy pause, carefully piecing the fragments together in his mind.

Woke up. Not from here. Wandering. Surviving.

A heavy silence settled over the timber table. It wasn't the volatile, dangerous tension from before, but a quiet, contemplative weight.

Garrick leaned back slightly, exhaling a slow breath through his nose. "...You’re telling me," he said, speaking with deliberate slowness, "you and your men... just appeared here." He tilted his head slightly, his gaze boring into Vladimir's. "No road. No banner. No kingdom."

He studied the German commander, his eyes lingering on the precise cut of the uniform and the rigid discipline of the men eating around him. He wasn't just trying to decide if he believed the story—he was trying to calculate what it meant for his village if it were true.

Behind Garrick’s chair, one of the villagers attending the room muttered quietly under his breath. "Magic...?"

"Or a curse..." another whispered back.

Garrick raised a hand slightly, silencing them instantly without even looking back. He leaned forward again, resting his calloused forearms on the table.

His gaze shifted briefly toward the crew, who had slowed their eating to watch the exchange, sensing the shift in tone despite the language barrier. "They follow you," Garrick said plainly, looking back at Vladimir. "Which means your decisions... decide if they live."

A beat passed, and the elder's tone shifted once more. The interrogation was over; now, he was speaking as a survivalist.

"You need three things," Garrick said, holding up three fingers. "Food." One finger lowered. "Direction." Another fell. "And understanding."

He met Vladimir’s eyes again. Steady. Measured.

"I can help with the first two." He paused, offering a faint, weary shake of his head. "But the third... that takes time."

Garrick leaned back, crossing his arms. "You can stay here. Short time. Rest. Learn a little. Then move." It wasn't an overly generous offer, but it wasn't cold either. It was the pragmatic hospitality of a borderland village.

Then, he leaned forward one last time, his voice quieter, stripped of any lingering suspicion or pressure. He was simply a man trying to understand what kind of force had just rolled into his quiet world.

"...What do you plan to do next, Vladimir?"

Vladimir fell silent, his mind racing through the endless labyrinth of possibilities. Every decision he made now wouldn't just affect him; it would dictate whether the four men sitting beside him lived or died.

"Learn. Teach me," Vladimir said, his eyes locking directly onto Garrick’s. "Teach me. History of world. How it works. Basics." He paused, forcing his pride aside for the sake of his men. "Please."

He leaned forward, the sincerity stark against his rigid military bearing. "I will pay back. Your help. Swear."

Garrick didn’t answer immediately. He just looked at Vladimir—really looked at him this time. He looked past the broken words, past the strange gray uniform, and past the impossible steel monster idling by the village wall. He looked at the core of the man himself.

Determination. It was as clear as day. It wasn't the blind arrogance of a conqueror, nor was it the frantic desperation of a cornered animal. It was something far steadier. Something hardened.

The room remained absolutely quiet. Even the faint, distant clatter of daily life outside seemed to fade, as if Edrin Hollow itself was holding its breath.

Garrick leaned back slightly, folding his thick arms over his chest. "You ask like a man who understands the cost," he said slowly. He wasn't easily impressed, nor was he dismissive. He was simply acknowledging a harsh reality. 

"Teaching you the world... that’s not a small favor. You don’t even know what you’re asking for yet."

The elder glanced briefly at the crew—Hans, Karl, Werner, and Dieter—who had finished their meals and were watching the heavy exchange with quiet intensity.

"They’ll depend on what you learn," Garrick added, turning his focus back to the commander. "Same as they depend on what you decide."

Another pause stretched over the table, longer and heavier than the last. Then, Garrick let out a quiet breath through his nose.

"...Alright."

The word was simple, but it carried the immense weight of an official pact.

"I’ll teach you what I can," the elder said. "Basics first. Enough so you don’t walk straight into your own deaths."

Behind Garrick, one of the attending villagers shifted uneasily, clearly surprised by the sudden compliance. "You’re just agreeing?" the man whispered.

Garrick didn’t even bother to look back. He leaned forward again, resting a heavy arm on the timber table.

"But understand this, Vladimir." His tone sharpened, just a fraction, cutting through the room like a cold breeze. "This is not a one-way road. You learn from me... but you don't bring trouble back to my village."

His gaze flicked just once toward the window, pointing in the exact direction of the hidden tank. There was no need to say it out loud.

"If your 'vehicle' draws attention... if kingdoms come asking questions... you leave."

Silence fell over the room once more. It wasn't hostile, but it was an absolute, unyielding boundary.

Vladimir nodded in return, his unchanging expressions showing his sincerest feelings. "Understood. Will do."

Then, after a moment, Garrick's features softened just a fraction. "We start simple," he said, his voice grounding. "Tonight—you and your men rest. Tomorrow... I will teach you the map of the world."

A small pause followed, and a faint, dry hint of humor slipped into the old man's eyes. "You’ll want to pay attention... For your own good. This world is quite vast."

Outside, the wind brushed softly through the thatched roofs of Edrin Hollow. Inside, something fundamental had just shifted. It wasn't a formal alliance—not yet. But it was the first real step towards Vladimir understanding exactly what kind of world he and his crew found themselves into.