Boys und Panzers, a girls und panzer/ガールズ&パンツァー fanfic

My name is Paul Stauffenberg. I'm a descendant of Claus von Stauffenberg. I was born in Marburg, but now I live on the aircraft carrier G.N.S Tirpitz and I go to school at the famed Erwin Rommel Tanker's School for Boys, which some say 'produce who some considered some of the best tank crews in Europe'. Ha. What a load of bullshit. Its only because, the school is one of few schools that actually teach tankery to boys and the only school that does not cheat or break rules. Anyway, there are two teams of tanks, I'm in group A. In my group, it composed of two hard hitter, two ambushers, two scouts and one extra tank. My personal tank, one of the two hard hitters is a Panther Asuf. G. My crew christen it "Thunderbolt". For every kill we got, we paint a thin red stripe on the gun barrel. I have got 80 kills, so hopefully, I get kills over the coming year. The other tanks in our battalion are a hard hitting Sherman Firefly called Ace, a Comet dubbed Meteorite, two ambushers which are a KV-2 called Broomstick due to it cleaning out the enemy and a Hetzer nicknamed the "Turtle" due to looking like a turtle. And finally our two scouts, a T-43 and a Luchs light tank, nicknamed Rough Rider and Desert Fox respectively. Now, although their firepower is low, their mobility and speed are invaluable. The commanders. All of our members wear the same uniform, so to simplify logistics. Our uniform is the famed German Black Panzer Uniform with gold trim. The uniforms is of course, were removed of Nazi symbols, so to avoid controversy and we being seen as neo-Nazis by the public. But we replaced the symbols with the German Eagle. We allowed to choose our own head gear, so I wore the German side cap to finish things off. Like my ancestor before, I wore an eye patch due to combat, but it is a story of tragedy and destruction. 4 years ago, I was in a different school at that time, which was Guderian High School for Tankers. We were up against the team from Michael Wittman Tank School. We were in the semi-final game in Russia. The plains is desolate of life, with only dead bushes all over the area. The game was going well. Although we lost 4 tanks, we inflicted more damage on their team, taking out 8 of their 12 tanks. Then shit really hit the fan. Our left track was blown off, disabling us for the entirety for the match. I had to get out of the vehicle and try to assess the damage, then a HE shell is fired on us. Some of the shell's shrapnel hit me in the left eye, causing mass bleeding. I had to get a cloth to stem the bleeding, but just when I saw in front of us, a machine whom I considered Satan himself coming right at us. And not just any old Churchill, but a Crocodile Churchill, that has instead of a machinegun in the hull, but a flamethrower which I realized that by the time we reloaded the gun and got it ready to fire, we will be cooked alive inside the tank, and I do not like to die a slow and most likely, a horrible death. "Everyone get the hell out! Quickly!" I ordered. Everyone quickly got out, but it seems the Churchill wasn't going to let us live for another day. The Churchill's commander got out of his cupola hatch and fired on my crewmen with his machine pistol. Firing and killing of opponents is not allowed and is punishable in the game, but I don't find it surprising that they're taking a risk, considering that they came from a school with its namesake was an SS member.

"The swine is shooting at us! That's unsportsmanlike!" said Albert, our gunner.

"Shut the fuck up and run you imbecilic!" I replied.

Although I and two crewmen escaped, my gunner and driver, the rest were not as lucky as us few. Some of the commander's machine pistol rounds went into my crewmen's legs and disabled them. He then and then he ordered to roast my crewmen alive, enough to light them, but just enough to give them worldly pain. It haunts me to this day. You can't get out the smell of burning fuel and flesh from your nose, the screaming of men from your ears and the sense of helplessness that you feel from your soul. Then I felt a sense of rage, fury and anger against them. Quickly along with my crewmen, we jumped on a friendly tank, a Firefly and I directed on to destroy the Churchill. We succeeded in destroying the tank by getting it from its arse. The Churchill's crewmen got out to try and escaped, but we were going to give the same mercy they gave to my comrades, especially the commander and the hull gunner. "Fucking kill them! They're getting away!" I ordered. The hull gunner replied by opening fire on the retreating Churchill crew, killing all of them with the commander being tore to bloody shreds. Although we won the game, I decided to leave the school, as the emotional memory attached to the school had been too much for me. From that day on, I always had an intense hatred and bitterness for those who hails from Wittman's Tank School. I joined Rommel's Tank School just over year ago, and just over 9 months when I got back into a tank. Recently we heard of talented tank group from Ōarai Prefectural Girls High School, and I heard our school captain just so happens to be good friends with their school president, who help to arrange a match with their respective team. The match will be held 30Km east of the Russian port city of Archangel. We prepare for the match, bringing AP, APCR, Smoke shells as our main ammunition and HESH, HE and HEAT shells as a last resort. We arrived in Archangel with tanks and equipment. Due to Russia nearing winter and the weather already becoming jack{}, we brought along winter coats, lighters, axes and fire starters for fires and winter paint. We agreed with the girls that when we disembark we have a truce and not attack each other on sight. A crowd was gathering and cheering us on, I was waving back at the crowd, and for some odd reason, Miles, the Panther's driver suddenly stopped. Somehow, I was thrown out of the tank and landed on my back on top of the front armour plate, eventually going on the road. "Ah fuck…" I muttered, and I got up with some pain and difficulty and just as I was about to berate Miles for stopping so sudden without warning, then I saw red-headed girl running towards along with her friends to see if I'm okay only to stop and when I realized that my eyepatch is missing and my scars are shown. One slowly come forward.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah I'm okay. Could be worse." I said, kneeling down to get my eyepatch

"How you got that scar?"

"Well it's a long story" I said while also quickly replacing my eyepatch at the same time.

"Heard you are kind of famous for your 'battle scar' and that you sought a match with us."

"Alright, who leaked this information? Because the only people that knows that sought a match with you and your team is my school captain, your school president, myself and undoubtingly, you."

"Heard with your injury and battle kills makes you the most popular kid in school"

"Ha! Ha Ha!" laughing as if it was a really funny joke.

"Fame does not matter to me. Most people call me Paul."

"Are you're sure you are okay? You took a hard fall on steel then on the road."

Before I could answer, the Panther turned its turret and fired. The girls jumped like ball dropped on concrete. And then my idiot buddies popped out of their respective hatches.

"Hey, what the hell was that for?" I said, implying why they wasted a round for a miniscule thing.

"Yo Romeo, stop yapping to your Juliets otherwise, we miss the transportation train and we might have to arrive at the camp in the dark." Miles said with some of the crew sniggering in the background.

"Oh what now, are you're afraid of the dark Miles? Afraid of the bogeyman will come up and tear your very soul out and carry it to hell?" I told Miles. The crew reacted by whooping and laughed at the burn that Miles got, while Miles, embarrassed at the burn he got, quickly got back in and close the hatch.

"Ah, sorry about crew. They're can be a bunch of idiots, but they are the best and I thankful I got them in my tank."

"Does this happen all the time?"

"Well, very rarely, because we like brothers. We annoy the hell out of each other, but when the going gets tough, they are all good. What's your name?"

"Maho. Maho Nishizumi"

"I'm Paul Stauffenberg. Just call me Paul."

"So you're the famous ace of Thunderbolt, right?"

"An ace? Ace is just a title only for people who wanted to take the credit for themselves. We worked together as brothers-in-arms"

"Wow. How you're so humble?"

Before I can give the answer, Don beckoned me.

"Yo, bro." Don, Thunderbolt's gunner called. "We really should get going."

"Alright then, let's going." I called back.

I jumped back on Thunderbolt and salute to the girls and wish them all the luck they need, then we got going to our camp.

(TIME SKIP)

Our group arrive at the camp when the sun is nearly fading away. We quickly got the axes and chop wood from a nearby forest for the fire and make a large fire. Jeremy was on cooking duty, and his Kartoffelklöße is the best food we ate as a group so far. There was eating, joking, laughing and some drinking of schnapps. After we finish dinner, we pour over the local maps and discuss what strategy to pick and what situations that might come up during the game. The plan was simple. The plan was that we split into two groups. One will consists of all the hard hitters and one scout, while the other contain the rest of the team. The method behind this madness is that if the hard hitters get ambushed, they can hold their own until assistance arrives and vice versa.

"Remember, when on radio, speak only German, so to confuse the opposition."

"Zum Seig!"

"Alright. Scramble! Scramble!"

The tank crewmen go to their respective tanks and prepare for the game. I was getting pretty bored waiting for signal, so I sang the song "Blood on the Tank"

Gory, gory, what a hell 'VA a way to die,

He ain't gonna fight no more!

Soon, everyone was singing the song.

There was blood in the tank, there were brains upon the basket,

He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots,

The medics dug a grave and place cross at the head,

And he ain't gonna fight no more.

Gory, gory, what a hell 'VA a way to die,

He ain't gonna fight no more!

They sing this song for quite a bit.

"Gentlemen, game begins in 10 seconds." Said the announcer.

Then the flare signal go up and I signal the "All-Forward". The engines already running, roars into life and begins moving the metal hulls. The hunt is on!