Storm — World War Zero: Iron

Captain Elias Thorne stood in the conning tower of the Leviathan-7 , a landship the size of a city block. It moved on sixteen massive iron treads, churning the French mud into a black slurry. Around him, the "Storm" was literal. It wasn’t rain that fell from the soot-choked sky, but a constant drizzle of oil and shrapnel from the aerial dreadnoughts clashing above the clouds.

"No," Thorne said, drawing his flare gun. "We aren't a ship anymore. We’re a fortress." World War Zero: Iron Storm

Thorne looked at the map. If they fell here, the road to Paris was open. He looked at his men—men of soot and grease, more machine than human after years of cybernetic "repairs" forced by the scarcity of medicine. Captain Elias Thorne stood in the conning tower

He climbed out of the hatch onto the hull. The wind howled, carrying the metallic tang of blood and ozone. He fired three red flares—the signal for the "Iron Burial." It wasn’t rain that fell from the soot-choked

Through his periscope, Thorne saw them: the Stahlsturms . They were four-legged mechanical monstrosities, three stories tall, emerging from the chemical fog like prehistoric beasts made of riveted steel. Their heat-rays flickered, turning the raindrops into steam before they could hit the ground. The Storm Breaks

"Abandon ship?" the first officer asked, eyes wide with terror.

The shockwave shattered the glass in the command deck. Outside, the world turned into a kaleidoscope of fire and iron. A Prussian Walker took a direct hit, its hydraulic legs buckling as it collapsed into a crater, venting high-pressure steam that cooked its crew instantly.