This heretic cannot be burned, he must be hung up and whipped!

Red Tide: 1921: Chapter 74: Dragged into the Hell of War

Neos recognized its origin at a glance - the outline of the square head, long body, and square turret that was almost flush with the body was even more exaggerated than the simple and rough S-1 Holy Inquisitor assault gun he had hurriedly made in Budapest.

"One, two, three... six pairs of road wheels. This structure uses Christie suspension. Not bad. I didn't have to deal with staggered road wheels and torsion bars, which are a maintenance nightmare. It will make it easier for repairs on the front line." Neos walked to the overturned tank, moved the muddy tracks, and got close to observe the IS-1 that was stuck in the ditch at a 90-degree angle with its top heavy.

"152mm howitzer, yes, this caliber is enough to knock the head of the Hell's land cruiser open - our S-1 Inquisitor's 76mm caliber can break the opposite armor at a short distance. Even if the 152 can't penetrate it, the shock wave of this grenade can kill everyone in the land cruiser." Jesus turned over and climbed onto the turret in his slippers, stroking the various religious pictures engraved on the turret.

The Orthodox Russians didn't draw the Virgin Mary, but they did carve a scene of the Russian Empire Armed Forces Cathedral blessing the 152mm artillery shells, which is very consistent with the stereotype.

"Brother, I think you knocked the candles off the armor plate?" Neos pointed at the vehicle, which looked more like a self-propelled artillery piece than a proper tank. Its armor plate was made of simple wood, painted with a cross. The extinguished candles, along with the massive wooden cross on the rear engine hood, formed the only remaining decoration on the tank's exterior.

"It's okay!" Jesus leaped from the turret. He exerted force on the muddy ditch, causing the soil to deform, slowly lifting the tens-ton steel behemoth and righting it. The massive body swayed so much that even the surrounding ground trembled slightly.

"Neos, before you came, this world relied on these things to resist hell." Brother Jesus patted the tank's skirt armor, and dust fell down.

"Now that I'm here, I can give it a holy aura that's enough to withstand the mental attacks of Hell."

"Saint, Lord, we can't seem to drive it away? I don't know how to drive this thing." Luce looked at the behemoth, then looked at the hatch covered with Russian logos, and asked the question with some concern.

"Ahem!" Brother Jesus cleared his throat and motioned Neos to come over.

Neos understood, opened the cockpit cover, and climbed in. Within seconds, the diesel engine's signature, deep roar resounded across the road, like a sleeping giant awakened.

"boom--!"

The roar of the engine hurts my eardrums.

"Spiritual protection—check!" Brother Su walked quickly around the tank, inspecting it. The holy wax on the hull began to spontaneously ignite, and the golden cross on the armor plating gleamed, emitting a warm and resolute light. He gave Neos, who had emerged from the turret, a thumbs-up.

"Physical protection—check!" Neos, unfazed by the dirt, took off his coat and meticulously wiped the tank's tracks and road wheels, the most vulnerable parts. Then, he spat into his palm and rubbed it vigorously on the engine hood, applying a buff to the machine spirit.

"Luce, you go in and drive." Neos pulled Luce to the cockpit, pointed to the driver's seat and asked her to sit in.

"But! Saint! I can't drive a tank - and I don't know Slavic!" Luce sat in the driver's seat, looking at the dashboard and joystick full of Russian logos in front of him, as well as the thick Russian manuals and prayers next to the seat, with a look of confusion on his face.

Neos seemed confident. He had participated in the design of the S-1 Judge and subsequent improved models, and was quite familiar with the basic principles of this old tank. "Look, these are the joysticks," he pointed at the two levers in front of Luce. "To go straight, just don't move them. To turn, just adjust the speed of the track on that side. Simple, right?"

"...Saint, I will try my best..."

"It's okay! It's very stable! This car is under the watchful eyes of me and Brother Jesus. There's no way the bag will break down. If it dares to break down, it means the car's spirit is disloyal!" Neos assured, patting his chest.

"Boom!" The engine seemed to understand Neos' words and roared violently again, responding to Neos' declaration.

"Okay, get ready to support the front line--" Neos was about to close the hatch.

"Hey, hey, hey, wait! What about me?" When Jesus saw that Neos and Luce were going to lock him out, he asked hurriedly.

"You? Your place isn't inside the tank." Neos pointed to the huge wooden cross on the rear engine hood. "You have to go up there."

"..."

"...I swear I will keep you trapped in the chair for ten thousand years in the future." He muttered softly

---

Meanwhile, after the Hell Legion occupied most of Hungary, the Heretic Legion obtained a large amount of industrial equipment and resources. Although Neos withdrew a considerable amount of important technical equipment and production lines in Budapest, other factories outside the city were not spared and fell into the hands of Hell.

However, the Hell Claw's cast armor requires the specialized conditions of Hell and complex rituals to manufacture, resulting in lengthy production times and low production volumes. The increasing number of anti-tank guns on the front lines, along with the Crusaders' improved S-1Bs based on captured technology, are causing Hell Claw losses to soar. The replenishment rate for this heavy tank is far outstripping its consumption.

Finally, under Lucifer's advice, the Heretic Legion began to adjust their strategy. They used local materials in the real world to massively transform light tanks, using their relatively thin hulls to mount the high-pressure 66mm tank gun developed by Hell.

This new "Hound" tank destroyer eliminated the bulky cast turret on top of the Hell Claw and replaced it with sloped armor with steep angles on all four sides.

Although nominally only 60mm thick, the angled design gave it an equivalent protection level of 120mm, sufficient to withstand direct fire from most mortal weapons of the time. Mounted slightly to the right of the front was a high-performance 54-caliber 66mm cannon, specifically designed for anti-armor purposes. This gun was also used extensively by the Heretic Legion as a towed artillery piece.

The engineers of the Heretic Legion figured that since all the Crusader armored units they had encountered so far were unable to withstand this artillery at close range, and their own tanks were also unable to withstand the Crusader's 75mm artillery at close range, sacrificing some armor in exchange for production and greater firepower would be a more cost-effective option.

This once again proves the truth that has been verified countless times in cruel wars: "Perfect weapons are overrated. Only a large number of usable weapons can lead us to victory."

Vlad, the new commander of the Envious Legion, stated: "When the number of tanks cannot meet the needs of the front line, using hound destroyers to expand the armored forces is a last resort but an effective choice.

The military industry departments of the Five Rings of Hell have long had plans for new heavy tanks. Once they conquer Central and Southern Europe and integrate parts of the defense industries of the Papal States and the Holy Roman Empire, they will be able to fully compensate for the tank shortages on the front lines.

For now, let's just make do with it. It might be "just enough" for the Heretic Legion, but for the Crusaders, this maneuverable, powerful tank destroyer—no, after the complete loss of the Hell Claws, this was already their main armored force.

...

At this moment, outside Otraricoli.

As the company commander, Meyer commanded a heavily modified S-1 Inquisitor assault gun. Halfway out of the turret, he surveyed the road ahead through binoculars. He then glanced at the rubble and the few remaining Inquisitors, including his own, behind him. His expression was utterly grim. Ever since Rome lost contact, the entire front had been in chaos. Supplies were cut off, command was disorganized, and each unit was left to fight on its own.

"Hey! Biskov, didn't you say you sent tanks? Why haven't they arrived at the front line yet?" Meyer shouted over the radio to the member of the Russian military observation group who claimed to have sent heavy tanks.

According to an order from a superior who has lost contact, his armored company was supposed to receive ten heavy landspeeders provided by these Russians for testing. However, it seems that only one has arrived at the front line, and the car has overturned!

Meyer's S-1 Inquisitors, weighing only ten tons, were simply unable to pull the forty-ton IS-1. Ultimately, they had no choice but to let Bishkov, reportedly the tank commander and a member of the Russian military observation group, get into his own vehicle and accompany them.

"I can't go there! The information is all in Rome. Rome is gone now, so I don't know where it is." Peshkov's answer in poor Latin with a heavy accent came over the radio.

"Ask God, he should know!"

It was hard to hold back. Those Russians in Moscow boasted every day that their tanks were invincible and unstoppable. However, until now, as an armored company commander on the front lines, he had never seen a single one of their heavy tanks on the front lines.

The passability of this tank seems to be a bit low.

Meyer, full of complaints, continued to scan the surroundings with his telescope as usual. Suddenly, his brow furrowed sharply.

"Send a message to the superiors—enemy spotted! Notify the troops, advance to the right, take up the pre-set positions, and prepare for battle!"

Meyer quickly gave the order. Three of his S-1 Inquisitors rolled off the road, their tracks crushing the dirt and weeds of the wasteland as they advanced stealthily toward their target, preparing for an ambush. Through his binoculars, he could barely make out the lead vehicle—it looked like a tank.

What is that? Why does it look so familiar?!

The block-shaped body, thin armor and large inclination angle, the same small car against artillery design concept, is simply another me in this world!

"Since we're here, don't leave!" Meyer swallowed his saliva, got into his turret, and ordered in a deep voice: "Battle formation! Prepare for battle! Load armor-piercing shells!"

A good tactical formation was crucial for tanks, whether attacking or defending. Meyer arranged a simple diamond assault formation based on the characteristics of his company and the capabilities of the S-1 assault gun. His tank charged forward, spearheading the assault. Behind him, three command-position S-1b tanks deployed in a diamond formation, providing flanking fire support and radio relay, facilitating communication and coordinating ambushes.

The 220-horsepower engine of the Inquisitor assault gun roared, driving this eleven-ton steel creation forward rapidly across the plains.

After several years of arduous battles, just like the previous eight hundred years, the Crusaders once again brought the enemy, who had superior technology and resources, to the same level as themselves, and then used the rich experience gained from rolling in the shit pit to defeat the enemy!

The enemy had been drawn into the quagmire of war. The Hell Claws' armored group assaults and motorized advances had long been unsustainable in the face of the brutal urban fighting in the cities along the way and the increasingly widespread anti-tank weaponry of the Crusaders. Their air superiority was also curbed by the Crusaders' carrier pigeon rocket interceptors.

To maintain their ever-expanding battlefront, the Heretic Legion could only mobilize more elite troops to the human world, investing more resources and laying down more chips. Meanwhile, despite heavy losses, the Crusaders only had one thing to do—go all in.

It seems that in this bloodletting marathon, the Crusaders are more likely to persevere to the end.

7th Tank Regiment of the Prideful Legion.

Chapter Master Vlad was sitting in his Hound tank destroyer. He was not an armored soldier. Just a year ago, he was an ordinary Hell Knight. Relying on his military exploits and limited intensive training, he came to serve in the 7th Tank Regiment and was quickly promoted to commander.

Now, sitting in the bumpy tank was just as uncomfortable for him as sitting on the back of a synthetic beast. He was not afraid of the bumps, he was just not used to this narrow, stuffy and mechanically noisy environment.

Therefore, he never fully entered the turret, leaving half of his body exposed. This felt much more comfortable than completely withdrawing. He wasn't alone; many Hound tank destroyer commanders adopted this stance. A major problem was the extremely narrow and cramped turret, designed to achieve high firepower, light weight, and low cost.

The primary objective in developing this tank was to improve protection while saving weight and significantly reducing costs. To achieve this, they made extensive use of sloped armor. The new turret completely abandoned the Hellforged tradition, featuring a double-layered, thicker side armor. The front boasted nearly 40mm of vertical armor, a massive gun shield, and 19mm flanks with exaggerated slopes, making ricochets possible. The rear armor also boasted 25mm, enough to withstand even the most basic machine guns.

This is the best possible protection while ensuring mobility, but the problem is that this tilted design sacrifices a lot of space inside the turret, making the three-person team of commander, gunner, and loader in the turret miserable. It's too cramped and too small inside, and the outside is better.

"Attention, Crusader tanks spotted ahead! Number—four! Prepare for battle!"

Through the telescope, Vlad could clearly see that the enemy was turning to enter the position. It was a small force, only four S-1 Holy Inquisitors. His own side had already prepared an ambush, waiting for the enemy to completely enter the encirclement.

So, Captain Meyer of the Crusaders and Captain Vlad of the heresy both chose to wait for the other side to fall into a trap. They hid their low-slung vehicles as much as possible behind the bushes and mounds in the wasteland.

In the dark jungle outside of Otraricoli, filled with the scent of blood and death, everyone is a hunter with a shotgun, carefully setting traps and waiting for prey. Once the enemy is discovered, they can immediately concentrate their fire to destroy them. How to inflict as much casualties on the enemy as possible while minimizing losses on one's own side? After eight hundred years of tug-of-war and trench warfare, the answer has become obvious -

Set an ambush, then use the majority to defeat the minority, or win by clever tactics.

"No, why isn't the other side moving yet?" Meyer lowered his voice and muttered to himself impatiently.

"Damn mortal, why are they so cautious? Did they discover our ambush?" Vlad was also confused.

The fact that a tank battle could be turned into a trench warfare, sit-in and ambush that had existed for hundreds of years can only mean that the commanders on both sides of the war had some skills.

The silent standoff between the two sides lasted for several minutes, as if time had frozen.

"boom------"

Suddenly, a huge roar broke the silence before dawn.

On the road, a strange tank, enormous in size and with a terrifyingly large turret, rumbled towards them. That massive hull, that exaggerated turret, and... that massive cross perched on the engine hood behind the turret. And what looked like a person hanging on it?!

Meyer and Vlad saw this jaw-dropping scene through the telescope almost at the same time.

“That man on the cross looks familiar.”

PS: 260 votes, next update 4.5k meow... refresh every five minutes, added a lot of pictures

Crimson Tide: 1921: Chapter 75: My Butt is on the Cross, It Doesn't Hurt

“This must be heresy!!!”

Meyer roared, his voice echoing in the narrow command tower, making Bishkov shrink his neck.

"How dare they! How dare they find someone to dress up as our Lord Jesus and hang him on a cross! What blasphemy! What arrogance!"

The Catechism of the Catholic Church clearly states that it is strictly forbidden to imitate the image of the Passion of Jesus Christ in any contemptuous or insulting way.

What kind of tank is this? How can it be qualified to imitate the image of Christ's suffering?

Is every nail in it a holy nail, or is every drop of oil in its engine a consecrated oil that has been consecrated in the temple for decades?

Is its commander a cardinal or the Emperor himself? And how can that thing hanging there even be qualified to represent Christ?!

With Rome's communications cut off, all updated data and identification information were lost. The Crusader troops on the front lines, including Meyer's armored company, had no idea whether this new tank was friend or foe. At a distance of over 1,200 meters, the prayer on the turret couldn't be clearly seen through the tall grass and trees.

"Aim—fire!" Meyer gave the order decisively. The two S-1 Inquisitors immediately moved their guns, pointing their 76mm guns at the approaching Stalin's Hammer on the road.

Vlad was equally shocked by this sudden turn of events. In his perception, the strange vehicle driving on the road was like a supernova lighting up in the darkness, emitting a dazzling psychic light that made the demon feel extremely uncomfortable and eager.

He didn't even have to guess to determine that this was an absolutely high-value target!

"Let me see what's going on - Aaaaaaaaah!!!" Vlad also leaned out of the Hound Tank Destroyer's artillery tower, curiously wanting to observe the dazzling target, but was blinded by the subspace light of Jesus and Neos.

"If this thing is heresy, I'll kick the Fly Lord's ass right here!" Vlad covered his eyes and roared into the communicator, "Attention everyone! Target, that glowing tin can on the road ahead! Focus fire—fire!!!"

The S-1 Holy Judge opened fire first, and the 76mm tank gun made a loud noise.

"Boom!" The smoke extractor in the turret was buzzing, and there was still a smell of gunpowder jumping throughout the turret. Meyer didn't care about the choking and stared at the opponent's tank closely.

The bullet did not hit the target, which means that the distance I estimated was wrong.

"Turn the scale down, distance 1100!"

Meyer gritted his teeth and continued to give orders to his gunner.

"Boom!" The second shot sounded again. Meyer looked at his own shell with gritted teeth. It flew away again. Something was wrong!

No, what happened to the car's soul today?

"Bang, bang, bang!" Meyer knocked on the inner wall of the turret with a wrench. "Machine Spirit, exert your strength!"

At this time, the opponent was still advancing. If estimated in meters, the current distance should be one thousand meters.

"Attention, distance 1000, deviate one millimeter to the left, and fire!" Meyer shouted loudly.

...

"Don't panic, Brother! Believe in the Machine Spirit, believe in yourself! Just silently pray for God's blessing, and that's all—they're all paper tigers, bluffing, don't be afraid!"

Neos heard the sound of artillery shells exploding dozens of meters behind the tank and knew he was under attack, but without binoculars he couldn't even tell where the enemy was. To comfort Jesus, who was hanging on the cross, Neos leaned out half of his body to chat with him.

“Boom!” “Boom! Boom!”

The other side fired several shots, but none of them hit us, especially the first shell, which was hundreds of meters away from us!

"Charge forward, I see smoke from shooting! Luce, drive towards two o'clock!" Neos retracted the turret and shouted loudly.