I don't own Girls Und Panzer.
Introduction
"Could you please repeat what you just said?"
"It's as I told you, sir. The Saunders Team was defeated. By the Ooarai High School tanks."
The lips of the tall man seated behind the desk curved in a silent whistle.
"That is... unexpected. They have constantly scored quite highly, and to be dealt an immediate defeat by such an unknown enemy... I suppose you brought me the files, haven't you?"
The NCO answered by placing the files right before his superiors, before returning to his usual, martial stance. But an eye who knew him well could tell that what he had read had obviously unnerved him.
Carefully, the tall officer leaned on the files, flipping the pages slowly and scanning the lines with his piercing blue eyes.
"Ah-Ha!" His finger pointed blatantly at the first page. "It seems the Ooarai team use quite a variety of tanks, out of necessity. Can't blame them, we know one or two things about necessity ourselves. Yet, this makes the work more difficult for their enemies!"
The NCO nodded curtly. "Yes, sir, that's the same thing that occurred to me. Using one or two tank models in battle makes them easier to handle because they have the same strengths and weaknesses, but this makes them easier to battle. Variety instead forces the opponent to vary his tactics according to each model, and this..."
A brief silence ensued. The officer sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Of course, to use such disparate tanks to the best, their commander must be either a natural or incredibly skilled. The present case being..." He trailed off, then his head snapped up, surprise making his mustache tremble. "Nishizumi? That clears it. She can probably handle those vehicles like a puppet master! And she must be charismatic, too, if she manages to slug it out with those Shermans with such raw manpower... historians, volleyball players, freshmen..."
The man before him squirmed, feeling uneasy by the sparkle he saw in those eyes, and by the tone with which that name sounded. "There is no doubt that she is more than worthy of her name, sir. Yet, her team still lacks experience, so..."
"So, they're ideal!" A gloved fist slammed on the closed files, and a feral grin appeared below the mustache. "Vincenzi, gather the men. We're off!"
Vincenzi jumped a little, his fears having been prove right. Yet again. "Captain, sir, you can't possibly mean... you know this will attract a lot of attention we don't need. Besides, just because they managed that, it doesn't mean they should prove a threat..."
But it was a lost cause. Because it had been years since Captain Vittorio Ansaldi, war veteran, tank destroyer ace and (but this bit of information wasn't exactly public) deeply troubled man, had listened to reason. Now he only listened to his desire.
"Sergeant, we will depart as soon as possible. With all the vehicles and the equipment. And that's final."
Vincenzi stood there, lamenting once again the sad fate of his beloved commander. But he couldn't bring himself to disobey an order. Slowly, he saluted, and exited the room.
Ansaldi slowly turned around. From the wall, littered with framed press cuttings, he picked in his hand one of the most important. One which he often observed, and over which he often pondered.
"UNFORESEEN COLLAPSE OF THE 'ITALIAN FALCON' : THE SNIPER OUTSNIPED"
Two pictures under the title showed respectively the sad defeat of a tank destroyer, from which a charred hole had punched out life and fighting spirit, and a tall man in a carrista suite, his head bowed in shame, his hand clutching a tanker's headgear.
"They will think it's for revenge." Ansaldi said matter-of-factly. "But that's wrong. I don't want to fight your niece because you, Mihoko, were the one that defeated me. It's because I want the best; and now I know she is."