Armored Squadron Novels & Stories

“Try to forget. Dwelling in the past would only make it harder.” She didn’t speak as he moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. Murmuring in her ear. “I’ll always be here.” And he thought. ‘For you.’ A group of men trudged through the forest, their shoes cracking and kicking every obstacle that stood in their way to their prize. Their bags banged on their backs as they crossed through the forest, their hands tight on the weapons they carried; varying from swords to guns of various lengths and sizes. Their boots marching in perfect synchronization; as if all of them were trained in the military prior to the traversing the forest for their game.

There was a golden island crest embroidered on the chest of their uniform. These were Tim’s armed forces! Now, they belonged to Philip. They were all the Clarkes’ people. They would fight and die for the Clarkes. This was not all. In an instant, team after team of armed forces appeared from all over the hill where the Andersons’ villa was. There were more than ten armored cars as well. They were all filled with men from the special force. They charged forward like an iron beast. They were heavily armed down to their teeth!

"Get squad 11 and 13 to contain them but tell them not to engage, the amored guard are on their way and keep the comm open." "Roger." He made for the armoury where his squad were already suiting up. "What's up cap?" A burly Askari hailed as he grabbed a gear. "The usual, I only wish the doctors let us take em down for good, better for everybody, and maybe I'll get to send the missis a few feathers for her Sunday hats." They all laughed. "Command to base 1, containment squad has been routed I repeat, the containment squad has been routed." The voice over the comm wasn't sounding bored anymore.

The Queen gestured toward the opposite side of the clearing, where three male figures stood in a triangle of palpable tension. Sokaris—the Norse god with icy eyes and an imposing presence. Vladimir—the vampire whose elegance concealed lethal ferocity. And Alonso, who had finally reached the clearing, his face marked by anguish and his clothes stained with dirt, yet carrying a determination that refused to yield before the other two.

When I glance at him, he’s fighting with the ice shackling him to the ground and nothing else. I howl, high and bright. My squadron hurries to my flanks, and we charge deeper into the battle. The silver Dun’s Crossing wolf joins us, falling into formation like he’s been training with us all along. We find another cluster of fighting and plunge into it. I knock a clawed paw away from someone’s throat without glancing at who it was headed toward. Flags and insignias blur to nothing in my vision. I may have only told my men to stop trying to kill Soren’s soldiers, but the silver wolf moving with the same military precision through the scrum as my own squadron reminds me that I’m not fighting to

Then another. From the darkness of the street, three figures emerged. They didn't walk; they prowled. They were massive, easily seven feet tall, wearing sleek, dark grey combat armor that seemed to absorb the light. They carried no guns. Instead, they wielded weapons that looked medieval—a serrated greatsword, a massive war hammer, and dual chain-axes. Valerius's Execution Squad. The "Three Knights." "Purebloods," Marcus hissed. "High-tier. Sarah, take the wounded and fall back to the emergency stairwell. Get to the 10th floor and weld the door shut behind you."

The army rolled in minutes later, a steel tide crashing the gates—five armored trucks, matte green beasts with reinforced hulls, each a 10-ton M113A3, turrets swiveling, engines snarling like caged wolves. Two dozen troops spilled out—black fatigues, rifles slung, boots pounding dirt—led by Chief Rossi, a squat bulldog in a beret, his chest puffed with orders he didn’t question. They fanned across the estate, securing the perimeter, expecting a fight. Jeremy watched from the courtyard, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging his lips—amused, untouchable.

Behind Magnus, his forces mirrored the stance, creating a powder keg that needed only the smallest spark to explode. Then the roar of engines shattered the standoff. They came from the north, a massive convoy moving with military precision, their headlights cutting through the darkness like searchlights. But these weren't ordinary motorcycles, and the riders weren't ordinary wolves. Even before they came to a synchronized stop that made the ground tremble, I recognized what they were. The Crimson Guard. The Council's enforcement arm. The ones who made examples of alphas who forgot their place.

They didn't have the heavy, impenetrable shielding of the Behemoth, but they were incredibly fast, armed with shoulder-mounted missile pods and twin chain-guns. Six Raptors deployed simultaneously, immediately laying down a terrifying barrage of suppressing fire that chewed through the Ironhead barricades. "Heavy armor in the square!" an Ironhead ganger screamed, pinned down behind a shattered fountain as a barrage of micro-missiles obliterated the marble statue above him.

In less than two minutes Mr Gun’s men got the convoy ready as Lorenzo and his men entered the convoy with his fifty men squad all heavily fortified from head to toe. The sight alone was intimidating as every soldier wore advanced protective gear, heavy body armor with communication systems staying active. Every tactical equipment, assault weapons were all positioned heavily as each man looked capable of surviving a battlefield. The convoy itself resembled a moving fortress, a wall of steel and firepower built to defend against a million nuclear weapons. Once everyone was positioned, the vehicles began moving, one after another they moothly exit the airport and not long the city unfolded befo