“Look! Even as the enemy’s shells fall around us, am I not unharmed? We shall triumph! Once we reach those gates, the victory is ours!”

“Huzzah!” the soldiers roared.

The enemy’s cannons were formidable and their fortresses were built with a terrifying solidity, but through sheer persistence, the Spanish had managed to establish an artillery battery right before the fortress gates.

“That damned wall simply refuses to crumble,” Ferdinand muttered.

The fortress still stood firm, yet he could sense a growing agitation among the defenders scurrying along the ramparts. They had clearly not expected the Spanish to close the distance so aggressively.

After over a month of grueling toil, digging trenches and braving fire to reach the gates, Ferdinand personally risked the threat of snipers to congratulate his men and bolster their morale. Returning to his defensive position in the rear, he surveyed the battlefield through his telescope and bit his lip.

The climax was at hand. He had already spent too much time here, squandering the momentum he had gained from breaking previous outposts. This fortress had to fall, and it had to fall now.

“Begin the final assault,” Ferdinand commanded. “Concentrate fire on the ramparts and push more men through the tunnels that haven’t been blocked yet—”

“Your Highness! Look! Over there!”

“The gates! The gates are opening!”

Ferdinand froze. Opening? Now? When our front lines are literally at their doorstep? Why?

His heart hammered against his ribs—are they surrendering?—and he adjusted his telescope. The massive iron-studded gates were indeed swinging wide, but the shapes emerging from the gloom within were not men holding white flags.

“What… what is that?”

Hooo-ooom!

“What’s happening? Why are you—”

“The monsters!” one of his veteran adjutants screamed, clutching his head. “We can’t… we can’t beat them… I saw them in Florida…”

The man began to babble incoherently. Ferdinand had specifically brought him along because he was a veteran of the Florida campaign, but now the man was a shivering wreck. What kind of T-Tractor…?

“Is that machine called a ‘tractor’?” Ferdinand asked, his voice cold.

“Yes… we must retreat! Now!”

Ferdinand let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Retreat? Don’t be absurd.”

If the enemy was deploying such expensive-looking machinery now, it meant they were truly desperate. It was a sign that the Spanish were on the verge of victory. Looking through the lens, the ‘tractors’ appeared to be sophisticated, intricate machines. In Ferdinand’s experience, that meant they were fragile.

“Deliver the orders,” he barked. “Tell the forward artillery to focus entirely on those ‘tractors.’ Smash them to pieces. And tell the infantry to fire at will.”

If these machines were meant to inspire fear, he would shatter that fear by turning them into scrap metal.

One, two, three, four… an endless stream of the steel beasts lumbered out of the fortress. The Spanish cannons were faster; they were already zeroed in before the machines could close the gap.

And then…

KRA-KOOM!

A series of thunderous explosions rocked the earth, cloaking the field in a thick shroud of smoke and dust. Ferdinand lowered his telescope and let out a short, satisfied huff. He felt a surge of relief; the enemy’s folly had provided him with an easy kill.

“Did… did we get them?” someone whispered.

Ferdinand winced at the “ominous spell” being cast by some superstitious fool. He glared the man into silence, then turned back toward his troops to begin a morale-boosting speech.

“Behold, men! We are the invincible host of Spain, with nothing to fear on this earth but the Lord—”

He stopped.

A heavy, uneasy silence had fallen over the line.

Then, a frantic murmuring began.

Ferdinand turned back, a prickle of dread tracing his spine. Surely not…

“What?”

His jaw dropped as the smoke cleared to reveal the tractors—unscathed and still moving. Through the telescope, he could see that the iron plating covering the machines was dented and scarred, but that was it. For a split second, he wondered if the “spell” from earlier had actually been real, before his rational mind clamped down on the thought.

The entire Spanish command was paralyzed in shock.

Even as a new barrage of musket and cannon fire rained down, the tractors merely tilted for a moment or paused before continuing their inexorable advance. From atop the machines, draped in vibrant banners and armored in steel, the voices of the pilots drifted over the din of battle.

“For… the Order… of Agriculture!”

And then, the iron horses began to gallop.

They accelerated to a pace equal to a running man. As the Spanish command realized what it meant for objects of that mass and armor to be ‘charging’ at them, their faces turned ashen.

What, in God’s name, were they?