Panzerfahren Chronicles

Chapter One: Well, where to begin…

"Panzerfahren. Kreigsfleiger. These two experimental sports devised in Germany have found to be nothing but successful in trials in the United States, The Soviet Union and The British Empire. Because of these results, they are to become an official worldwide sport, parts of our culture, and teach the teenagers to be well mannered. And for mostof all, to be prepared for anything life shall throw at them." – Induction of Panzerfahren and Kreigsfleiger, United Nations Summit, 1948.

Monday, September 2nd, 2016.

Prenton, Birkenhead, England.

07:00 AM

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BE- THWACK

The ever-annoying sound of the alarm was swiftly silenced by the swing of a lucky hand. It was the day every student in the United Kingdom knew and dreaded. Monday; back to school week. This was the week which seemed to last for years unending. It signaled the end of a summer which gave everyone of them the freedom they needed. But now, that freedom was swiftly stolen away from them, as schools opened their doors for the first time in the curriculum year.

If it couldn't get worse, there were due dates for the homework set over the holiday. Great.

The teenager looked up from the pillow which he had instinctively burrowed his head in at the sound of the alarm. Either he was going to get himself up, or his mum would have to do it; and if his mum did it, he wouldn't hear the end of it for the whole day. With a groan of discomfort, he threw the covers off himself, expecting the cold air to launch itself at him, but instead was met with a room which was at a surprisingly warm temperature for the year. It was the end of summer in Britain after all.

His dark brown hair was a scruffy mess upon his head, nothing a harsh brush wouldn't sort out. His eyes were struggling to keep open, the temptation of sleep was enormous, as a real task to resist. His blazer and school uniform were hanging patiently on the door of his wardrobe. On the left side of his black blazer, was the badge of the school he belonged to. It was in the rough shape of a shield, in the middle of which was a church, with two acorns beside it and a leaf above. Underneath the shield was the name of the school. Woodchurch High School.

Getting the uniform on was no big deal, every year wore the same kit minus Year Eleven. They had a different design of tie than the years below. Looked a lot better too. Once it was on, and the teen had grabbed something to eat, he made his way to pick up his bag, and to leave for the long trek toward school. The school, in an effort to make the students an example of how 'smart' they were, had standardised on one design of bag; much to the dismay of the parents of the students. On his bag, was the badge of the school and his name; James Byrne.

James wasn't that good of a student, with most of his subjects expecting a C from his GCSE results in the following year; except Panzerfahren. In the years that James had been at Woodchurch, he'd climbed through the ranks in the subject, all while still using the same tank since Year 7. A Sherman Tank; Good Luck. The tank was old, very old. Instead of being a replica, like the majority of the others in Panzerfahren, it was an original. It had seen them through the best and worst parts of their career. Most of the other tanks in the school's team were originals as well, but Good Luck was the oldest by far, having been built in 1943.

Sooner than James realised it was time to go. He shouted goodbye to his mum, who was busying herself with getting herself ready for work, and walked out the front door, closing it behind him.

Outside, the air was cool. The sun shone bright above the town, and the clouds looked white as a sheet. It almost didn't feel like anything was going on today; alas, there was. The streets down where James lived were seemingly abandoned, only the occasional cat and car going past were the only company he had. Soon, he came to the main road. It was a vast contrast to the empty streets where James lived. It seemed that every second, a bus went past, or a lorry. On the pavement approaching James, were two lads of a similar age to him. Both wore the same uniform as James, and when they saw him, they smiled.

"Mornin' James." Said one, with a subtle nod.

"Morning Kieran, how're things Josh?" Replied James, asking a question to the lad beside Kieran

"C-could be worse." He replied.

Kieran and Josh had been mates with James ever since primary school. They'd all been close since year 3, when they all played around on the yard at school. Each one of them had stuck together, each asking to be put together in year 7, and assigned together to Good Luck. There was no separating them.

As James tagged along with them, and as they walked down the street they broke into conversation. Kieran went into specific detail about the new Fifa game, while James kept insisting it was nothing more than the same game as the last fifteen or so. Josh brought up the new Battlefield game, which all three of them enjoyed talking about. They all had agreed that the 'landships' were the most unfair advantage to one side since Tigers against Churchills. The conversation lasted so long that by the end of it, they had arrived at school.

Outside was a flurry of students, some leaving their cars, some leaving buses, and some walked in groups. The lone M3 Stuart gate guard stood still as ever, watching over the new influx of students at the school. Beside the old tank, was the Headteacher. She was a stubborn woman, with the features of a grandmother. Some of the school's veterans joked that if there was going to be a new horror film out, she should be cast as the monster. Not many students liked her.

The three boys kept their heads down, they didn't want to be brought over to the head and screamed at merely because their ties were a stripe too short.

Soon, after passing the headteacher at the main entrance to the school grounds, they passed through reception and into the main concourse of the school. It was filled with life, with students and teachers running to and fro. Its temperature was like an oven in comparison to outside, but it wasn't unwelcome. Of all things, it was what the trio looked forward to the most about the school.

Almost as soon as they entered the concourse, a lad ran up to the three. He was at barely their height. At a glance, James thought it would've been an overexcited year 7, but as James turned his head to face the person coming towards them he recognised who it was.

"James? You're needed in the meeting room at Lunch break. There's a meeting for the commanders and pilots." He said.

James was confused. Why have a meeting this early in the year? It only just started up again, and most people wouldn't be in, especially because of the day.

"Alright, cheers Leon." James replied. Albeit, he didn't want to go to the meeting, he had to. He was a commander of a tank.

12:45 PM - Lunch Break

Later that day, once he'd collected his lunch from the canteen, James made his way to the meeting room. The room, which was on the second floor of the school and in the administrative district, was where the commanders and pilots of the school's Panzerfahren and Kreigsfleiger teams would come for meetings. It had a large rectangular table in the centre, with windows dotted on the right-hand side. Around the walls, were pictures of teams of yesteryear. It took a while to get there from the canteen, due to the sheer volume of people in there it was a near impossible task to get out, but James eventually did.

"Ah, Sergeant Byrne. How glad of you to join us." Said the person sitting at the far end of the table.

"If I'm told to attend a meeting by the team's commander, I answer the call." Replied James. As much as he didn't want to attend the meeting or didn't like the person sat at the other end of the desk, he still was formal in his response. "Now Casey, why are we here?"

Casey adjusted himself in his seat. "We're here to discuss what went wrong last year." He said. A Tank Commander snorted.

"I'll say, we got our asses handed to us on a silver platter. Our aircraft were all down minus Alex's Hurricane, and what are .303 Brownings gonna do against Tiger tanks?"

"Nothing could've stopped him Liam," James said, "it was only us and the flag tank left. And its 6 Pounder can't even scratch it."

"It's the ammunition." Said another commander. "The Armour Piercing disintegrates on hitting the targets, even solid shot couldn't get through the front of the Panzer IV we faced."

"Are you mad?" Interrupted another, "It's the guns. Our Firefly's armed with a Vickers 75mm gun. It's no where near as effective as it should be."

"It's none of those, it's the aircraft." Said Jessica, one of the pilots. "What do we have?" She asked rhetorically. "Hurricanes, Spitfire MK V's, and a P-51A. We've got much more but they're not flight worthy; engine trouble and no munitions."

"I was talking more about our tactics but those are good points." Said Casey. "The problems we have already are troubling. The question is, how are we gonna fix them? As far as I know, a new replica Rolls-Royce Merlin engine costs about £11,000. New munitions for all tanks about £25,000 and a 17-Pounder gun… about £180,000. Maybe more. We simply don't have the money at the current moment."

"We could try fundraising." James said. All eyes turned to him. "When I was in Cadets, occasionally, they did bag packs, sponsored runs and the like. Maybe we could get some of them on the go while we wait for government funding to get the amount we need."

"Good thinking Sergeant." Casey said. The room was in agreement. "Although we might need permission from staff, this could be the way we get in this year."

Interrupting the thoughts of everyone, was the distinctive two-tone chime of the school's tannoy system, signalling the end of lunch break and the resuming of lessons. The sound brought a feeling of dread, nobody wanted to go back to their classrooms. All in the room were about to leave until Casey remembered something.

"Oh yes, guys? Come back. I have something for you all." The crowd turned to face Casey.

"You are being re-issued your handguns as soon as you have filed the correct paperwork. That should be out in a weeks' time. Pilots; you'll find yours in your bail out kits, among other essentials, in your aircraft. Commanders; yours will be found in your tanks storage compartments. That is all."

James sighed out of relief, he missed the Webley revolver he'd held close since he was in year 9. Although it was for emergencies, and only paint ammunition was issued (restricting the gun to become a glorified paintball gun) it was still relaxing to know that it wasn't being took off him, yet. As he made his way to his fourth lesson of the day, English, he thought the day as nothing but awful. He'd been dragged back to school, attended a meeting filled with negative thoughts, and English was next. 'How wonderful' James thought to himself.

Little did he, or anyone else, know that this year would be the best one of his life, and put the school back on the map forever…