Disclaimer: WOT belongs to War Gaming!
Hello, and welcome to my SECOND work ever. It's something I cooked up during a safety stand down presentation at work that stretched for over 45 minutes. I have no plot at this time, just a short intro and characters I haven't even memorized yet. But fear not dear readers, I intend to finish this story come hell or high water! Please enjoy, and feel free to leave a review if you have the time.
thanks, wolfd890
Their tank was a prototype, and a poorly conceived one at that. It was 33 feet long after all. A beast compared to all the others. Nicknames such as 'Land whale' and TOGleship' were common in the chat box during a skirmish. Wherever they went, their vehicle was always singled out and ridiculed mercilessly. Now you might ask, what could they possibly be talking about? Well, its designers were not so respectfully referred to as 'The Old Gang'. Therefore, it could only be the one…the only…TOG 2 Heavy Tank!
Despite it's ugly design, atrocious handling, and overall terrible layout Sargent Davies still respected the gear that was issued to him, even if said gear was the ugly duckling of the Tanking community. It was his duckling, and just like a mother loved her child so he loved the massive hunk of welded steel sitting in the spotless vehicle bay J-18.
"Hey Davies!" one of the American's yelled from across the maintenance bay. "I just got off the phone with World of Warships. Said they wanted their battleship back!"
Rowdy laughter filled the already loud building. It was sort of a running joke at once a day one of the Nations made a joke about their machine. One young German bloke had even come up with a rhyme skewing the old Row, row, row your boat jingle. Bloody thing caught like wild fire during a drought. At least it depicts the massive 81 ton machine favorably, the Commander thought before turning back to the task at hand. Re-painting the side of hull. Despite its unfortunate disposition, Sergeant Davis and his crew knew how to play to the TOG's strengths properly. The multiple divets in the armour plate showed just that. Only two penetrations, one of which sent their poor gunner to the infirmary yet again. Poor sap has the largest file on record by a good margin.
Side scraping was one thing their tank excelled at. Often however the hull would need to be turned away from the enemy in order to get the turret on target. Darn thing was right at the front of the hull. It was one of the many flaws Davies could think of.
The Tan coloured paint looked lighter on the uneven steel, but the Commander deemed it acceptable, wiping his dirty hands on a rag while strolling around the hull.
Rodgers, their loader, was hefting the big 17 pounder shells into the side access port, on the other side of which presumably sat the other Rodgers, also a loader if you could believe it. The two were brothers, a mere year apart in age and both unlucky enough to have been drafted when their great overlord presumably bought this tank. He glanced at the large camera mounted to a robotic arm at the top of their bay. Overall whoever gave the order from up top knew what they were doing.
…most of the time. Just last week their handler caved to peer pressure in a team battle because the TOG 2 just happened to be large enough to block one of the three bridges on Erlenberg. Not surprisingly, they were destroyed almost immediately, and to add insult to injury their charred and mangled tank used for cover!
Luckily the Garage had robots to fix their tanks. Re-supplying on the other hand had to be done manually and more importantly immediately in case the vehicle was selected for battle again.
Getting ammo racked was the worst, because all of the rounds had to be replaced.
The elder Rodgers, a soulless Ginger called Harry called Davies, presumably to complain about how their expert gunner was once again a little to trigger happy. The large Holographic score board said it all. 22 rounds fired, 18 of which hit, but with only 13 penetrations. Not bad really. At 17 lbs each, that was almost 400 lbs to restock. Also not bad compared to some of the artillery pieces he'd seen, but there was a reason this beast had not one but two loaders.
Before the Commander could respond though, The Garages E-100 was lowered into its slot further down the line, its crew cheering and whooping as it did. The turret hatch popped open, revealing another mop of red hair, William Rodgers to be exact. They weren't the only ones curious about the cheering E-100 crew. Dozens of crew members from various vehicles paused their activity to observe the massive gray tank. Davies knew its Commander, a tough as nails Kraut named Meier. His crew was normally reserved, almost polite even. Something big must have happened. Sure enough, the even larger Holo-screen sitting over top of the main walkway fizzed to life, showing the battle report from the German Tier ten super heavy.
'Steel Wall, Spartan, fire for effect, top gun'. The list went on and on. Over 150 thousand credits, 6.5k experience. Holy s**t. But the biggest surprise was the completion of the Infamous HT-15 personal mission. It was nearly impossible to get. 8.5k in damage dealt, absorbed, and deflected. The most Davies and his boys had ever managed was about 5k. That was a hellish game. Half the crew and most of the modules had been knocked out. But that was a story for later.
Personal Missions came into existence with the last patch update almost two weeks ago. Their TOG 2 actually completed one when some foolish AMX light tank rear-ended their land whale coming down the hill and around a corner in Himmelsdorf. The ram kill was unexpected but welcome and the crew got some nice goodies as a result.
The missions are grouped 15 per vehicle type, and upon completion a 'reward' can be claimed. He'd get to that momentarily. Their handler had focused on the heavies and Tank Destroyers the most. It had been a not so-secret race between the two groups, but it was obvious the Heavy group had come out on top.
The E-100 looked in bad shape. Numerous holes perforated the lower glacis, a few more in the side of its turret, not to mention the hundreds of small pits from High explosive artillery shrapnel. The medical orderlies carted off two crewmembers with a gurney, all the while trying to keep the approving mob away. Promises of rounds being bought could be heard.
"So, it looks like we got the first one sir."
It was his driver, a sandy haired kid named Will Tailor, currently taking a long drag from a cig.
"Indeed it does Private", Davies replied in the typical English gentlemen like fashion.
"So, where do you reckon she'll go?"
She. Implying a her. Female. A Woman. That's what the last patch was about. The introduction of female crew members. Not unheard of in the Great War, but not common either.
It was the so called prize. Davies had never encountered a female before. It was an odd thing to admit, but in reality none of the chaps in this place had. It was a MMO game after all. All they had ever known was tanking, and of course getting sloshed at the adjacent watering hole during maintenance stand down every night. They were immortal. Dying in game didn't even hurt! It was their reality, and for the first time since the introduction of consumable goods it would change. Everyone was exited. Where would their handler place her? What position would she take?
Well, the rumour mill in this place was sure to answer their questions soon enough.
"Not a clue lad, that's above our pay grade." In reality they didn't get any pay. Bollocks!
"Hey look, the Handler is accessing our vehicle." It was Anderson, their co-driver. And indeed he/she was. Looking over the crew roster for some reason. But they hadn't even hit they second skillset threshold yet. Why would…
Davies jumped back in shock when MCKinnon, their Scottish radio man suddenly disappeared from the roster, to be sent to the barracks. What the bloody hell was going on? The crew had been together from day one. Why did he get…no. No way. The vacant position was filled…a new radio operator by the name of Alison Rickelton. They were getting the female crew member?