When the Cold Burns Chapter 1, a world of tanks fanfic

World of Tanks. A once popular video arcade game, it kept computer geeks at their computer screens more than any other MMO had ever done. But now, in the year 2083, its more than just a computer game. It's as real as gets.

Hailed as the game of champions, it's the way the modern world plays war. From the multi-national corporations to the PMC's, the world's governments, privateers and average Joes; all men and woman from all walks of life, everyone has some involvement. Either for fun, for profit or for actual war, Tanks have become the main stay of the modern civilized world, and the men and woman who compete in them, the modern, civilized gladiators.

The crews themselves are actually kept safe by several key features. First off, the tanks themselves, although fully breakable, have modern composite ceramic armor, capable of stopping any shell used in the games from penetrating to the crew compartment.
Second, standard issue battle armor, given to even the newest recruit, protects from shrapnel and explosive blasts, enabling the crew to perform outside repairs, recon, or other activities outside their tank, yet still remain safe, even under fire.
Last of all is the actual combat system. High tech sensors, computers and algorithms are used in each tank to calculate if whether or not a tank is penetrated, and how much damage a tank receives. This means that essentially, each tank has a health pool, giving a certain amount of survivability to even small light tanks. But once that health pool is depleted, its candles for the tank.

But better the tank than the men and woman who fight from within. Yes, civilized war, indeed.

"Contact. Enemy spotted"
"Hold fire until he crests the ridge."
"Roger that."

Scott watched silently through his view scope as the enemy WZ-131 hurtled down the far slope of the valley.
"You ready for him Mark?" Scott asked quietly into his headset.
"Target acquired" was the simple reply.
Mark was the gunner. A quiet and gentle man, but deadly when it came to laying the main 105mm canon on target.
"Hang fire until I give the order."
Scott's main view scope was right next to the gunners, so his point of view was identical to Mark's. He waited patiently as the WZ disappeared behind the ridge, quartering slightly. Without a word, the turret of the Leopard 1 medium tank turned to the right, its gun being brought to bear on the spot where Mark predicted the WZ would reappear.
Scott had no reason to doubt Mark's judgment. He was hardly ever wrong.
As predicted, the WZ crested the ridge exactly where Mark had the 105mm gun brought to bear.
"Fire."

The WZ-131 lurched to the side as the 105mm Armor piercing composite rigid shell of the Leopard's main gun collided with its hull side armor. The shell punched right through the 20mm of armor, a full penetrating shot. It was, however, stopped, by the high tech ceramic armor inside the crew compartment, protecting the crew within. This was, after all, only a game.

"Hit" Scott said aloud, his voice now slightly louder in his crews headsets. "396 damage dealt. Prepare to fire second shot, load HE!"
Below Scott, Klaus Evans, barely having heard the order to change shell type, already had an HE shell in hand, his intuition of his commander and their target already having urged him to go for HE. Seven point nine seconds later, he had the shell in the breach and the breach lock closed.
"Ready to fire!" he bellowed.
"Mark, status?"
Mark had kept the gun on the now fleeing WZ the whole time, the turret rotating and the gun elevating to compensate for shell drop to target.
"Target acquired!"
"Shoot!"

The deafening boom of the main canon was a main stay of every crewman's life, yet each of them still blinked, the only visible reaction, as the high powered cannon let loose another shell. This one collided with the back side of the WZ's hull. This time the shell exploded on impact, causing a devastating blast that wrecked the tank's engine and blew off its right track, causing it to grind to a halt.

"Hit! 468 damage. He's still got some life left in him!" Scott said to his crew. He had hoped for more damage with that shot, but he had known not to expect it. "Reload, HE! Tom, prepare to get us out of here."
"Aye sir!" replied Tom, the driver, as he revved the diesel engine of the Leopard, readying her for departure once the kill shot had been fired.

"Ready to fire!"
"Shoot!"
The WZ erupted into flames as the final HE round hit it. Its full allotment of hit points, 880, had now been taken away by three quick shots from the Leopard 1. The crew inside were unharmed, however, the composite armor of their crew compartment and their battle suites doing what they were designed to do, keep them safe. Their tank, however, was dead, now awaiting the end of battle to be removed and repaired. The WZ-131 is a rare tank after all, one especially made for the game.

"Ok Tom, let's go." Scott now said. He then flicked a switch on his UHF radio, initializing the connection between his tank and that of his company commander's. "This is Leo 1, come in CO."
"Hold on for CO" came the reply from a voice that Scott would have preferred to his CO's.
Scott waiting only a few seconds for his commanding officer to come online.
"Reading you loud and clear Leo 1. What's the story Scott?"
"Enemy wee-zee is down sir, proceeding to second check point."
"Roger that son, head on over. Blake and his 140 are already there waiting for you."
"Got it sir."
"Good work Scott, over."

Captain John Ronaldson was a broad, over bearing man with a deep booming voice and the tact of a pork chop in a Jewish synagogue. But he was a caring, loyal man, and above all else, he knew how to command a company of tanks like few others. His company, Echo company, was the reason that Clan BLAZE was leading this year's clan wars. And the young man who commanded the Leo 1 was a fundamental part of his strategies.
John knew that Scott was good. He had trained Scott to be the commander he had become, efficient, resourceful, quick thinking and creative, the perfect blend of out the box thinking combined with traditional powerhouse tactics.
Just the man to succeed me, John thought to himself as he sat with his head outside the commanders hatch of his E100 super heavy tank.
"Sir?" said a young, feminine voice.
"Up here Chloe." John boomed into his headset.
Chloe Ronaldson was John's youngest daughter, but already she was twenty five. A blonde bombshell, she was the companies golden girl and the pride of John's old age, the perfect replica of his late wife.
The secondary hatch next to John opened up and out came Chloe's head, her long blonde hair beat down by her helmet.
"Hi sir." she said sweetly.
"Chloe." he simply said, trying his best to keep professional, but failing as a broad, proud smile spread across his face.
"How we doing?"
"Your the radio operator, you should know" he accused her with a smile.
"I do, but I want to know what you think." she winked back at him. Chloe knew exactly how to charm her over bearing father. She loved him as a daughter should, knowing how much it meant to him to have her with him in his profession. And it was a big bonus that she loved tanks almost as much as he did. She had, after all, grown up on and around them.
"Ok. Well, Scott just radioed in. He just took out the wee-zee. That just leaves the AMX 13 90 and the Chaffee alive to scout for the enemy. That means that they will have to start playing more forward. If I have guessed right, that means that their Maus and the two T57's will probably head to the town."
"That's where we are going." Chloe stated, already knowing what her father was planning.
"Right. Our E100 and two E75's will engage them in the town while Scott and Blake will flank around and cut off their retreat."
"What about their Bat chats? There are three of them and if they catch Scott and Blake they will hammer them." It was Scott that Chloe was truly concerned about, but here in front of her father, she kept her emotions in check, the way he had trained her to.
"That's why I sent the IS-7 and two IS-3's to the east. I'm hoping they will draw the bat chats in so that our arty can hammer them back."
It was a good plan. A typical plan of John's, one that required both hard-line aggressiveness and subterfuge. The key had been removing the eyes of the enemy force, the light tanks. Scott had already removed the WZ from play, and John hoped that the AMX would be erased by the IS team as they advanced eastwards.

"Contact. Enemy spotted"
"Hold fire until he crests the ridge."
"Roger that."

"And that's where our T-54's come into play."

"So they will punch through the lines and make an arty run?"

John smiled. His daughter was smart, having spent her whole life around him and his life's work, tanks. She had a deep understanding of tactics and strategies, even being able to mastermind a few of her own.

"Affirmative. And once they are done there, they will double back onto the main force in the town or assist the IS group with the Bat chats. "

Yes, a good plan indeed, John thought to himself, if it all goes to plan. They were, after all, up against clan INFMUS. Infamous had become known as one of the hardest hitting clans in all the clan wars, preferring to use auto loading tanks.

Autoloaders were devastatingly powerful machines, for as long as they still had shells in the magazine. Once they had fired off all of the currently loaded clip, they had to disengage, pull back and reload. For some tanks, such as the T57, this wasn't such a long process, only taking about 25 seconds. For other machines, such as the AMX 50B or the bat chat, this meant completely withdrawing to a safe location so that the crew could remove the spent casings and replace with new ones, taking up to a minute.

On the battlefield, a minute is a very long time.

"Tom, bring us alongside will you." Scott said into his headset as he sat atop the turret of his tank. The Leopard was a fast tank, capable of maintaining 65km an hour even over rough terrain, and this terrain was certainly rough. The tank rocked and lurched as the suspension did it's level best to keep the tank stable, but over this uneven ground, it was always going to be rough.

"You got it sir." Mark replied, his own head outside his drivers hatch, giving him a better field of view.

"About time you got here Scott" came the cracked, sarcastic remark over the UHF.

"Well someone had to take care of the wee-zee, and guess they knew you couldn't do it" quipped Scott with a chuckle.

"Yeah yeah." came the chuckled reply.

Blake Haverness was a small man, barely five foot eight. But what he lacked in size he made up for in tenacity and volume. It didn't help that he was Scottish either. Give him half a bottle of whiskey, and you had either an instant party, or instant war.

His tank, an Object 140, was a medium tank of Russian design. Quick, fast firing and with surprising turret armor, it was a tank that excelled in bullying smaller targets and annoying larger ones. Just like its commander, Scott thought with a rue smile.

Mark skillfully brought the Leopard to a standstill alongside the 140, dropping the rev's of the diesel engine to a barely audible idle.

The top hatch on the turret of the 140 flew open, and out popped the head of its commander.

"So what's the plan?" Blake shouted, despite the fact that he was wearing his headset.

"You know." Scott shot back.

"Aye, but I just like to be reminded by the Captains golden boy" Blake chided with a grin.

"We hit them from behind. We take out the T57's first, when they are reloading. Focus fire and get the hell out of dodge if it looks like they are about to open up."

"And the Maus?"

Scott grinned, a half smile that everyone who knew him instantly recognized, and some feared.

"Dibs"