The Bois de la Sueur Noire was not marked on most official maps. Those who knew of it only referred to it by nickname — La Forêt Maudite. The Cursed Forest.
It was a small wood of twisted black oaks, stripped of leaves by shrapnel and scorched by years of intermittent shellfire. The ground was uneven, the trenches shallow, and the air, even in winter, hung heavy with rot. French scouts who had ventured close described whispers in the dark — the wind pushing through branches like breath from a giant's mouth.
And now, Emil Laurant would drive his machine directly through its heart.
He stood atop the armored hull of Sévère, his boots clanking against the cold steel. Around him, mechanics tightened bolts, calibrated the suspension arms, and sealed the final plates on the turret housing. Snow flurried lightly in the trees beyond, but here inside the makeshift motor pool, the heat of the exhaust kept the air dry.
Fournier approached with a clipboard.
"Final systems check complete. Secondary capacitors holding at 89%. Rear assembly had to be patched with riveted steel — we had no time for a full replacement."
"It will hold," Emil said. "This isn't a retreat vehicle."
Rousseau followed a moment later, carrying a folded recon map.
"The enemy has laid multiple booby traps near the southern thicket. We've mapped some of them — flame-wired trenches, disguised stake pits. Worst are the pressure mines. German tech. Buried deep, but they sing under tension."
"Sing?" Emil asked.
"Metal teeth. Like harps."
Emil nodded. "We'll avoid the song."
The plan was simple.
Not elegant. Not even tactically brilliant.
Just undeniable.
Three armored vehicles would enter the forest in a spearhead: Sévère at the center, with Guillotine and Chasseur sweeping behind in reverse crescent formation. No artillery prelude. No infantry advance. Just steel. Just movement. Just proof.
At 0430, the operation began.
The forest trembled.
The treads of Sévère churned through black mud and layers of dead leaves. The turret scanned in 20-degree arcs, and the spotlights — dampened for stealth — swept over broken trees and fragments of helmets half-buried in snow. The silence was immense.
Emil kept one gloved hand on the command throttle, the other on the side microphone.
"Guillotine, report."
"Left flank clear. No contact. Dead horse carcass on path. Smells fresher than it should."
"Chasseur?"
"Right flank clear. Minor resistance movement in tree line — possible sniper nest. Suppressed."
"Advance to secondary marker," Emil ordered.
The vehicles crept forward.
The wind began to whistle — not from cold, but through metal wires strung between trees.
Fournier muttered from the radio desk, "Trip sensors. Old style. They're listening."
"Let them," Emil said. "It's time they heard us coming."
At 0512, Sévère struck the first trap.
The front plate jolted as a blast erupted from beneath. The explosion was not large — likely meant for infantry. The treads wavered, but held.
Emil glanced down at the heat gauge. "Minimal damage. We push."
Suddenly, machine gun fire rattled from the ridge ahead. Tracer lines danced like fireflies, illuminating half the forest. Bullets pinged off the angled hull of Sévère, but her armor held firm. The other vehicles spread out, counter-rotating their turrets.
"Return fire," Emil ordered.
The twin 47mm guns boomed.
Bark, steel, and men exploded in succession.
A scream. Then nothing.
The forest swallowed sound again.
At 0530, the real resistance began.
The Germans had hidden a small mechanized nest near the ruins of a chapel. Two flak guns turned to face the Sévère as it emerged through the brush, and a volley of anti-tank grenades peppered the vehicle's left side.
A loud clang echoed through the interior.
Emil felt the tremor through the control rig.
He opened the side viewport — smoke poured from a nearby crater, but the flank held. A plate was dented. Nothing more.
"Guillotine, flank that nest!"
"Roger!"
A burst of fire from the Guillotine's turret swept through the German emplacements. Figures scrambled from cover, some firing pistols, others retreating into the trench tunnels.
One man carried something heavy — a shaped charge, box-mounted with a chemical delay fuse.
Emil saw him too late.
The man vaulted from the trench and slapped the charge against Sévère's rear wheel hub before being vaporized by return fire.
The fuse ignited.
A violent crack split the early morning gloom.
The rear of Sévère jolted. Screws popped. Smoke hissed through the control deck.
"Status?" Emil barked.
"Capacitor conduit breached. Rear propulsion at 50%!" Fournier yelled.
"We have forward drive?"
"Yes!"
"Then go forward!"
The treads roared again.
Push.
By 0600, Sévère had reached the heart of the forest.
Enemy resistance collapsed. The machine gunners lay broken. The trenches were empty or burning. The old chapel ruin — once a machine nest — now stood as a shattered skeleton. Above it, the sky glowed faintly.
Fournier emerged from the turret hatch, coughing.
"That's it?"
Emil stepped down into the mud, walking forward, ignoring the distant gunfire and smoke.
He stared at the ground.
There, buried beneath a tree stump and snow — a metal hatch.
Camouflaged. Industrial. With a lock system built into its face.
He knelt.
Wiped it clean.
There were words etched into the frame.
"Versuchslabor 7 – Projekt Morgenrot."
Test Lab 7 – Project Red Dawn.
He turned to Rousseau. "We found it."
By evening, French engineers had cordoned the area and begun excavation.
Inside the underground bunker, they found blueprints. Schematic drafts in German. Several machines partially dismantled. And a single generator room, still warm.
One of the officers held up a sealed box. Inside: a projector reel labeled "Höllenwagen II – Rückgrat."
Backbone.
Emil watched the footage that night by lantern light.
It showed a machine larger than anything he had seen.
No turret.
Just teeth.
He sent a single report to Amélie Moreau:
"Target eliminated. Forest cleared. New enemy system confirmed. We move to intercept."
He attached the reel, the map, and a single photo of Sévère, smoke-smeared but unbroken, beside the buried bunker.
Then he returned to his workbench.
There was more to build.
Much more.