Firstly the characters that I created such as John Paul are fiction and not real people.
Another thing I would want to tell you guys is this is a rewrite as in my opinion the previous version lacked passion and a soul so I will be rewriting.
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{The Narrator}
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! Ah yes, I see the excitement in your eyes. You're just in time for tonight's extraordinary performance. A tale of war, loss, rebirth… and maybe a little steel vengeance. Tonight, we follow the story of a man named John Paul."
A pause. A twinkle of mischief in the voice.
"Now, hush. The show begins, and we wouldn't want to miss the opening act just because someone couldn't keep quiet, would we?"
Snap.
Reality bends, the scene distorting like a worn reel of film overheating under a projector's bulb. Colors blur. The frame zooms toward a battered French house at the edge of collapse—its walls scorched, roof punctured, and trembling under distant artillery. Shadows stalk its periphery.
German soldiers are approaching.
Dunkirk. 1940. And our protagonist prepares to make his final stand.
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{John Paul's POV}
I stared at the photo in my hand. Her face smiled back at me, unchanging. My sweetheart. My world.
Tears welled up, unshed. Around me, the house reeked of blood and burnt wood. Corpses of comrades lay sprawled across the floors, some no older than boys. Seventeen, maybe. The furniture was splinters, the wallpaper blackened. Whole sections of the roof were gone—blasted apart by artillery. The sun angled through the ruin like a spotlight on a stage meant only for me.
WOOSH.BOOM.
I glanced through the jagged remnants of a window. German troops were holding back. Waiting. Maybe for reinforcements. Or maybe they wanted the artillery to finish the job, reduce me to a red stain under rubble.
I slung my MAS-36 rifle over my shoulder. Faithful companion since '39. Still here. Still with me. The floor creaked beneath me as I searched, finally spotting the grenade I'd dropped earlier—lodged beneath the broken body of Private Marcel, poor kid.
He was eager, always smiling. Said war would be like the stories his grandfather told—cavalry charges, victorious marches, medals for valor. He'd died in the first five minutes. Poked his head out to check on the enemy. Never saw the bullet that took it clean off.
I pried the grenade from his hand. There wasn't time to mourn. Not properly.
I moved toward the door, planning a trap—when the sound of boots echoed through the hall.
They were inside.
I yanked the pin, flung the grenade out, and slammed the door shut. My hands clamped to my ears.
"SCHEISSE! Hans, LAUF!"
The explosion rocked the house, knocking plaster from the ceiling. Dust clouded the air. I raised my rifle, aimed at the door, breath held.
"Viens ici et je te tue, bâtards allemands!" I shouted. "Come, and I'll send you all to hell!"
No reply—just the soft click of the doorknob. Then glass shattered.
Two dull clinks.
My eyes widened.
BOOM.
And then—
Silence.
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John Paul
1890–1940Fallen at Dunkirk, holding the line for the British retreat. His lone stand delayed five German battalions. Killed by a grenade through the window.
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{The Narrator}
"Ahhh, now that's a way to go out, isn't it? Blown to bits after taking five battalions for a dance. But fret not, dear audience! Death is merely the intermission in tonight's tale."
The soul of John Paul rose from the ruins, flickering like a candle in a storm. And as it floated upward, something—someone—grabbed hold. Time rewound around him like a coiled spring.
And something new was added.
A system.One made of code and madness.
Large, glowing letters etched across the void:
[WAR THUNDER SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
The being chuckled—a sound like grinding gears and God's laughter.
"Giving him a Panzer III or a clunky old 35(t) would be boring. No, let's give him the Tiger II. Premium package. Fully crewed. Max stats."
A beat.
"But just to keep things interesting… we'll throw in some extra engine troubles. Breakdown bonuses, you might say."
And with a snap, John Paul was hurled into his new life.
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{John Paul POV}
I jolted awake in pitch darkness. No—wait. Not darkness.
Metal.
The soft hum of machinery. The stale scent of oil and sweat.
Around me: control panels, dials, gauges, and a small black-and-white photograph of a smiling German woman taped to the hull.
Then the memories hit me.
Peter Müller.2nd SS Panzer Division, Das Reich.Tank Commander.
The name made my blood boil.
"Where the fuck—" I whispered.
Ding.
[System Activated]
["Welcome, Host. Congratulations on your survival—sort of. I am your interface and companion. You may call me whatever you like, but most simply call me 'System.' Now let me explain..."]
A synthetic voice echoed inside my skull. I whipped my head around. No one.
["I am here to assist you. You get stronger. You kill enemies. I feast on the essence of your destruction. In exchange, you unlock more... options. Think of it like going from a rusty bicycle to your dream car."]
"...Dream car?"
["Tito 665 'Superba'."]
I froze.
Nobody knew about that. Not even my brothers in arms. I'd been saving, working, dreaming of that drive through the countryside with my love beside me.
And then some bastard had to throw a fucking grenade.
["Yes, tragic. Let's move on. You are now embodied as a Tiger II tank. German crew, best of the best. Loyal to you—and you alone. They believe they're under secret orders. You'll give commands via internal speaker. They won't suspect a thing."]
"And if someone runs a background check?"
["We've rewritten a few memories. You now outrank twelve division commanders. Your paperwork is airtight. However... some Wehrmacht and SS personnel may get curious. Try not to draw too much attention."]
"And the other Tiger IIs?"
["Gone. The factory 'accidentally' burned down. All blueprints lost. You're one of a kind."]
A silence stretched between us. The reality settled like tank treads on my chest.
"I'm a Nazi tank."
["No, Host. You are in a Nazi tank. You are you. The crew? They're soldiers. Loyal. Capable. Not monsters. But you will have to play the part."]
I exhaled. A long, bitter breath.
"Alright. You said I can unlock more tanks. How?"
["Simple. Fight. Every battle earns you points. I'll alert you in advance. You'll know what's coming."]
I nodded. The whir of servos and the steady thrum of the engine felt... alive. I felt alive.
"Then let's get to work."
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Well that is the rewrite for the first chapter I hope you guys have enjoyed and in my opinion its already better but that's just my opinion so why don't you guys give me your opinions and if you have questions I'll answer it in the comments or in the next chapter.
Welp that's all Folks.