So. Never thought I'd get back into fanfiction, but, it's been quite a while since the last time I posted something online... and almost as long since I felt like writing about anything that wasn't entirely original. But... like I said, it's been quite some time, time in which I like to believe I've improved, actually gotten together what makes a decent story. Even took some classes. So, I'm hoping that this will mark my return to fanfiction. I'm still going to write original stuff in the meantime and that will be my primary focus, perhaps I'll make some semi-crossovers with the characters from those original settings and other franchises. But for now, one project at a time, that I believe is what ruined my old account's record, taking on too many projects at once. (That and having no idea what makes a good story, just pulse pounding action, Michael Bay style.)
Disclaimer: I've only seen the anime, I've little to no intention on reading the mangas and while I may reference bits and pieces I've heard about it (Or read off the wiki) as far as I'm concerned, this is after "Der Film".
Disclaimer II: The story is rated T (14+) for language, violence, suggestive themes and politics (because I know someone will get offended by it...)
So, with all said I give you the prologue to Girls und Panzer: Der Cold War Games.
(Now to offend people with the first scene... I swear it with be the only time this story gets this... political. It's just too easy.)
May 3rd, 2019 - Washington D.C
SecDef J.D stood outside the doors to the oval office, he could hear muffled shouting on the other side of the doors. The president was at it again, barking insane orders to whatever staffer he managed to drag into the room with him. Insane orders, coming from a less than one-hundred percent sane man. SecDef really didn't want to enter while this was going on, but he'd just received a memo, straight from the ambassador in Russia. He couldn't make heads or tails of it, all it mentioned was that they would quote "Be delighted to host a match, we will give you until the new year, January the first, to be ready. Should you be unable to show up, we will consider it a forfeit." the message seemed to be intentionally vague and simple. Though on one hand, SecDef remembered who it was meant for.
"By god, this can't be good at all." he mumbled to himself before inhaling sharply and pushing aside the doors, steeling himself for the meeting he was about to force himself to have. "Mr. President!" SecDef exclaimed, walking in like he owned the place, attempting to assert himself, lest the president get distracted.
The president's son-in-law stood in one side of the room, arms crossed and gaze lowered like a child who'd just been given a stiff berating, meanwhile the president sat at his desk with papers in front of him, papers that SecDef knew hadn't been touched. Without another pause, SecDef raised his arm, holding the paper memo he'd received up for all to see.
"What's that, another boring paper?" the president asked. "And before you say it, yes I signed all the papers, so you can relax John."
SecDef raised his brow, "Did you now." he was highly skeptical. He stepped briskly towards the desk and looked down at the top paper. Sure enough, there it was, the presidential signature... SecDef moved the top few aside only to find exactly what he thought. "And the rest?"
"I was getting to 'em." replied the President.
SecDef sighed "I'm sure you were." he stated, unconvinced. "Now will you please explain what this is all about? I just got this from the ambassador to Russia, something about hosting a match." he then set the memo out on the desk in front of the president, looking at him expectantly.
The president signed back, not unlike a snarky teenager but for crying out loud the man was over seventy. "Alright, fine." and with his characteristic reluctance, POTUS took up the memo, holding it up to his face as he seemed to read it. "Oh! That's what this is." he lowered the paper, "So remember the Ukraine summit? While I was there, I extended an offer to the Russian President to face them in a Tanky Match. Thought it would be fun if we could just settle our differences in a way which we didn't have to kill people in. Tell them we'll need more details though. I want this match to be glorious. We're going to show them what America is capable of! Make Tanky Great Again!"
For a moment the SecDef was confused, Tanky? What the hell was that... then his confused expression went blank. "Wait... Tankery?"
"Yeah, that's it! I've already signed and sent paperwork to get this thing rolling. The AG's sending it to the Russians now I think." replied POTUS.
"WHAT?!" SecDef exclaimed, the shrillness of his voice betraying his age for a moment before he could clear his throat and regain his composure, if only slightly. "Mr. President, America hasn't taken part in Tankery since '89. For crying out loud, NATO has largely abandoned the sport since the fall of the Soviet Union. The only ones who have kept the sport alive is Japan! We don't have Tankery teams anymore!"
"Then put one together John! I want this match to happen, got it, or do I need to find another SecDef?" demanded the President.
SecDef froze for a moment. He clenched his eyes shut. As much as he wanted to quit this job, he was pretty sure he was one of the few sane voices left since almost everyone else had abandoned the sinking S.S White House ship. As much as organizing a sporting match wasn't in his job description, if it was a match between the former Warsaw Pact and NATO, it just might become part of it. He couldn't afford to get sacked. He had to stand as the last vestige of true American libertarian ideals in this damned clown fiesta. "Yes Sir." replied SecDef, begrudgingly.
With a mixture of determination and apathy, SecDef pivoted on his heels and marched out of the Oval Office, shutting the doors behind him and just... standing there, pinching his nose bridge. Resume Tankery, that in of itself was no small feat. Ok... first, an attack plan. He wasn't sure of the details of the match, but he had until the end of the year to sort through this mess; it was May. So, technically he had seven months... but he wasn't dumb, in reality he had less than four, maybe five tops. Since the Russians would be hosting, if winter came, they would have the advantage, no questions asked. Ok, he had to reel it back in. First let the EdMin know of the development. But was he to set up a boy's team, girl's team or co-ed team? Damnit! He didn't know what the Russian team was! Perhaps it didn't matter. Then he snapped his finger, he had his attack plan.
Start up a girl's team, but allow boys to join as maintenance and support crew and be trained on the side in case he needed to swap the roster up. Traditionally Tankery was a girl's sport, which he admittedly thought was avangard... but this way if Russia fielded a boy's team or co-ed team, he'd have the needed players. But there was no way America could get a brand new Tankery team up and running in less than a year without the infrastructure to do it; they had no teachers of the sport any longer. So, he'd put a call out to NATO, any School Districts willing were to resume Tankery, hopefully, and were to standby. That would handle the numbers. And if he needed too, he might be able to convince the Japanese to send some trainers, maybe a team or two could even come by and show NATO the ropes again. But who would lead them?
Tankery had been dropped in '89, like he had said, most of the last batch of Tankery players had long since dropped their shells, but perhaps he could find some willing to teach the new generation of players. Which meant he had to start with the last of the Cold War era players. He needed the Pool family.
Two Weeks Later: May 17th, 2019 - Washington State, Bellingham
Jessica Pool - 11th Grader, seventeen years old, going to be eighteen in about two weeks, June 6th - was walking home from school. She'd pulled a poster down from the cork-board in her school's foyer and was reading it over. She'd lower her arm, holding the poster at her side, looking back up as she brushed some of her long chocolate brown hair out of her hazel eyes. "So, they're bringing Tankery back to the west." She mused, contemplating whether or not she'd try out as she rolled the poster up and shoved it under one of the loops on her backpack. Her mother was sure to be divided at best. Her father even more so, she was sure of it. Tankery isn't a woman's sport or something like that... that had been the general consensus in the West anyways, yet stubbornly it remained until it no longer had a point at the end of the Cold War.
Jess chuckled and shouldered her pack, picking up the pace. Her mother had always talked about it with reserved, almost nostalgic vigor. It was impressive, hearing the tales that she had about her matches when she was a girl. Ever since she was old enough recognize the difference between a car and a tank, Jess had too held a fascination with the hulking metal behemoths, but in her time, they were regarded as weapons of war, nothing else. With Tankery coming back, that might no longer be the case in the west and her prior hesitation turned to excited glee. Oooh! She might get to sit inside a tank! How cool would that be! Her mother would be so proud! She had to be!
"Absolutely not." stated her mother later that afternoon, leaving Jess standing there befuddled, holding out the poster with a shocked expression plastered on her face, unmoving. Then finally, she snapped herself out of it.
"Wait, why?!" she exclaimed, causing her mother to flinch.
"Don't bark back at me like that young lady. I said no. Tankery might be all fun and games in the East, but they forget just how dangerous it really can be!" her mother replied as she left the kitchen, with Jess sliding after her across the smooth linoleum floor before sliding up onto the carpet and following her mother into the small backyard behind their house, cordoned off with bland, basic and slightly aged wooden planks.
"So? You did it. And you turned turned out just fine, you even said you enjoyed it." said Jess, not so much trying to talk back, but just wanting to get to the bottom of why her mother seemed to have just done a one-eighty on her stance on Tankery.
Her mother stopped just outside, pausing at those words, there was a tense silence. For a moment Jess wondered if she'd pushed too far. "You're right, I did enjoy it." she finally replied, picking up a pack of cigarettes up from one of the glass tables that stood outside on the small patch of concrete that made up the pathetic excuse for a patio that the yard had, drawing a lighter and lighting one up for herself. Jess took a step back to put distance between herself and her mother, her mother was trying to shoo her off, she knew it, Jess hated the smell of cigarettes, they gave her splitting headaches and made her nose burn.
"Then why did you stop?" Jess continued to prod, full well knowing she was re entering dangerous waters. Every time the subject reached this point in the past - anything about Tankery really - her mother promptly shut the conversation down. But to her surprise, not this time.
Her mother took a puff from her smoke, "A combination of things really. The end of the Cold War, the sport fell out of favor. Popular western opinion since the thirties had always been against Tankery as a woman's sport. And of course, the Area-212 incident."
Jess furrowed her brow, some of those made sense, others however… "I mean, I guess I can understand that the thawing relations between the Warsaw Pact and NATO would decrease interest in military-like activities, but for god's sake mom it's the twenty first century, if a woman wants to drive a tank for sport, she's every right too." she said, not even batting an eyelash at such a statement. That last part however… "As for Area-212, wasn't that one of the old Tankery arenas? Wasn't the last of NATO's Tankery matches held there?" but that was about all she knew. Information on the location was limited at best.
"Yes… yes it was. It was also the location of my final match." her mother stated and Jess tensed up, the strain in her mother's voice was palpable. She was very much forcing herself to talk about it, all in the name of convincing her not to join Tankery. "The Area-212 incident… they don't talk about it much anymore… but it's one of the reasons they banned open top tanks."
"Mother… you… you don't have to-" Jess started, but was silenced with a wave of her mother's hand, who still had her back to her, smoking her cigarette.
"If it means talking you out of this hazardous activity, then I have no choice." her mother started, taking a swift breath in through her nose, then coughing abruptly as she inhaled a whiff of second hand smoke. Though once she caught her breath, she put the cigarette out at last. Forget Tankery, that stuff was going to kill her before the sport did.
"June the 12th, 1989. It was to be the last Tankery match before the summer break for the younger girls, and it was to be my graduation year, along with my entire crew's, since we were all 12th graders. It was the finals of NATO's Tankery Championships, the Warsaw Pact wasn't involved. It was our 117th Eisenhower High Tank Brigade against Germany's 89th Rommel High Panzers. Annihilation match. We knew they were going to go heavy with Panthers, so we brought up our M10 Wolverine Tank Destroyers. These were open top variants. At the time, open top was thought to be a safe design, since it would allow for the crew to bail quickly. I was the gunner, my friend Delilah was our loader, Nikky was our driver and Veronica our commander. The match was going well, we were winning, eight of their twelve tanks had been knocked out and they only had one Panther, a King Tiger, a Jagdtiger and a Puma - the 234 - left. The Puma had been eluding us for some time, leading us on a chase… it wasn't easy keeping up with an armored car in a tank, there were times where we had to stop and examine tracks. We were pretty sure it was leading us into an ambush but we just weren't sure when we'd be hit, so we ended up having our Pershing take point. Once we had been led on enough though, the trap was sprung, we lost our Pershing and three of our M10s before we knew what hit us. Dammit we were so headstrong back then, all we could think of was winning, even though we knew how dangerous it was to load the open top guns while under fire. I don't remember what happened after we got hit though. I think we got hit by an HE round from the Jagdtiger, it knocked our tank out and I woke up next to our M10 which spouted fire from the rear. I saw Nikky climb out of the hull, singed but okay… but I couldn't find Veronica or Delilah. I stumbled to my feet, my legs were killing me, they felt like they were on fire, I looked down to discover that several pieces of shrapnel had torn through my legs. It wasn't so bad that they would have had to stop the match, about four incisions, only one of which ended up needing stitches. But I had to find Veronica and Delilah, I looked around the tank while the fight between our remaining M10s and the Germans raged on, I don't know who was winning at this point, I didn't care anymore. I then climbed up onto the hull of the tank while Nikky nursed her burns, again, nothing serious, she'd been safe inside the tank. But… Veronica and Delilah… I saw the two of them crumpled up in the turret of the tank, both still moving, but…"
Jess put a hand to her mouth as her mother's eyes started to well up.
"I screamed to Nikky to get the flags out, I remember crying for her to get the yellow flag with the red cross on it and run out into the middle of the field as fast as she could. She didn't ask any questions and ran screaming out into the field, waving the flag and bellowing for them to stop the match…" Jess's mother paused for a moment, taking some time to breath. "Shrapnel from one of the 122mm HE shells had somehow found its way into the open turret of the M10, they said it was as a result of our engine getting blown up, it's why I'd been thrown from the turret. Said I was lucky to have my legs still attached to my body. They flew out a medevac to lift them to the nearest hospital. Both with serious, life threatening shrapnel and concussive injuries." finally, Jess's mother turned around, tear streaming from her eyes. "Delilah didn't make it, she died two days later. And- and Veronica never fully recovered, she wouldn't walk again."
Jess was speechless, someone… died during Tankery? She'd never heard such a story. "I'm… I'm sorry mother." Jess finally said after much silence. She dipped her head. No wonder she had been so reluctant to speak of her final Tankery days. As far as Jess was aware, if what her mother said was true - and she'd no doubt about it - then that would have been the only case of a fatality in Tankery. Sure there'd been injuries, but none that were life altering to the best of her knowledge. But on the other hand, while she didn't want to downplay her mother's losses, she knew that there'd been significant advances in Tankery safety regulations.
All tanks were to be equipped with some layer of internal Chobham armor, complete with depleted uranium and NERA - Non-Explosive-Reactive-Armor - panels to protect the crew. Most of the weapons used in Tankery couldn't penetrate modern tank armor at range. Besides, most modern live rounds used in Tankery had elaborate sensors in them which would cause them to disintegrate after penetrating a certain distance, or if they detected a person in front of them. Said person would still have the daylights knocked out of them by the rubber wad, but it was better than getting their head taken off.
Regardless, Jess understood her mother's concerns, it hadn't changed her mind, but it had given her something to think about. Then there was a ring at the door. Jess pinched her nose as her smoke smelling mother passed her through the sliding door and made her way to the front, slowly, Jess again followed, shutting the yard door behind her.
There was muffled conversation coming from the front of the house. Jess stood in the living room, at the end of the hallway that lead towards the stairs to the second floor of the house, peeking around a corner that seperated the living room from the more formal dining room. Formal was a stretch, more like less used and containing slightly more china than the rest of the house room. It was that one awkward overly pristine room in an otherwise unnoteworthy house. The voices could be heard faintly.
"Are you sure about this Mrs. Pool? You were the best your country had, you would be teaching a new generation." said a suited man, standing at the door.
"I'm sure, I gave it up after '89, as did any other sensible girl who witnessed that tragedy." Jess's mother replied.
"Well, yes… it's just, well, it's complicated, but we're in dire need of teachers. I can assure you, you will be paid handsomely for your time spent." added the man, only for her mother to shake her head.
"I'm not interested in blood money. That's what that sport pays out."
The man looked dismayed at her mother's response. Her mother was blowing this way out of proportion. Someone was injured, another dead from a sport. Truly it was a tragedy, but the same can be said of anyone injured or killed doing something they love. For god's sake, Jess had seen some pretty gruesome injuries from things like wrestling, football and hockey, hell, people have been killed in those sports as well. True those sports weren't playing dodgeball with 122mm shells and multi-tonne armored fighting vehicles, but the casualty rate was about the same as actual dodgeball!
"Mother! Please! If you won't, then let me at least join!" Jess exclaimed from down the hall. The conversation at the door halted and her mother slowly turned to look at her. But before her mother could berate her, she moved to make her point. "I get it, Tankery is dangerous, you're scarred by what happened. But look at you, look at me, look at grandpa! Tanking is in our blood. I don't claim to fully understand, or even know what it felt like to lose a friend in what is supposed to be nothing more than a game. I just know what I want to do with my life. That means jumping in a tank… reinvigorating this sport that you once so loved. I promise I'll be careful. Please, just let me do this!" she begged.
"I see your daughter has much of the spirit you once possessed, Mrs. Pool." remarked the suited man, almost nostalgically.
Her mother dipped her head and released a long winded sigh. "Yeah… she does. Alright Jess. But if you get hurt…" she trailed off and for a moment Jess expected her to say something like then I'll kill you myself, but no, nothing of the sort. Her mother's expression softened; "...just don't get hurt."
The man at the door cleared his throat. "Well then, if that's settled." he paused, waiting for the two ladies to direct their attention towards him. With a nod of Jess's mother, the man continued. "Miss Pool, if you should join the Tankery team, you will be exempt from all further land based schooling this year and report to the old dry docks in Seattle." he then held out a small slip of paper for Jess's mother, who took it and gave it a once over. Her eyes widened.
"You don't mean to-" she started getting emotional again.
The man smiled, "She was mothballed in '91, it'll be good to get her back out to sea, won't it?" Jess's mother clasped a hand over her mouth and nodded rapidly.
"I may reconsider my previous decision." her mother stated, holding back her emotions, just standing in the doorway, half trembling.
"Best make your decision soon Mrs. Pool. The Eisenhower will be ready to sail by month's end."
Jess raised a brow, thinking for a moment. A ship named The Eisenhower, where'd she'd heard that before? Then it clicked. Her mother had just mentioned it. The last great school ship of the United States of America! Shut down in '91… and now, back in service. She wasn't sure why the state would go through all this trouble, bringing back Tankery, reactivating The Eisenhower, but for whatever reason, she was pumped to see who they'd face first!
Three Days Later: May 20th, 2019 - Somewhere in Siberia
From the top of the radio tower in their high tech training compound, Natalia Badanov, age nineteen, watched a pair of next generation T-14s race around a circuit in the middle of the compound. This base, played home to over three-hundred and twenty Russian girls, eighty boys and three dozen assorted instructors. It was it's own fortress school in the Siberian forests.
Even with the sun going down and the chill of Siberian night setting in, she couldn't help but smile. They'd just gotten a pair of the newest cutting edge Russian tanks to play with. If it wasn't thirty below (Celsius of course) she'd be drooling with anticipation to take it for a spin herself. She was glad the T-14s arrived when they did, she needed something to take her mind off the knee jerk reaction that had rocketed through the Russian media recently; America and NATO readopting Tankery. It was the surprise of the decade for sure! She wasn't sure where it came from, or what spurred it but she didn't care. A slurry of emotions pulsed through her. Her ice cold professional demeanor betrayed her anxiety riddled mind - at the moment at least. On one hand she was excited to finally have an international opponent since Japan hardly participated in international championships… and to stick it to America… it was of all things, refreshing and equally stressful. The weight of the great Russian bear weighed upon her shoulders. She and her team would represent Russia against America, not since the eighties had they squared off like this. The pressure was very, very real.
"Winner takes bragging rights of the decade," she thought, comparing the coming event to the space race. It would be sputnik all over again! At least that's how she played it in her mind. She leaned onto the railing for a moment, watching the squads of Russian girls marching in formation below. The enlistees and non-coms running drills, all of them marching with extended Mosin-Nagant rifles or SVT-40s like it was a Victory Day parade. Yeah, Russia may have taken Tankery a little more seriously than even Japan.
If Baseball was America's pastime, Hockey was Canada's and Football was the rest of the world's then Tankery was Russia's. True it had been slowing down since the 90s, but it was still widely popular and Natalia was proud to be captain of the honorary 151st Girl's Red Guard Tank Division. One of the few things that hadn't been purged during the fall of the Soviet Union.
She pulled the flaps of her ushanka down around her ears and tied the strap under her chin as the winds picked up. The view from the radio tower was amazing, but it was old and treacherous, creaking when the winds picked up. She figured it was probably best to head down… she made her way towards the ladder, and froze before setting hands on the first rung as the speaker which was immediately above her screamed to life, drowning out the reactionary "BLYAT!" explisitive that escaped her lips as she clamped her hands over her ears.
"Comrade Badanov, your presence is required in the command centre."
Natalia furrowed her brow, in hindsight she should have anticipated this - ear rape included. After such a shipment of tanks, she was due for orders any moment. So, without hesitation, she steeled herself and grasped the ladder, sliding down it, reaching the bottom of the ladder in seconds. Then it was off to the command centre, only right next to the radio tower, in a brisk, but orderly pace, trudging through the snow. She then ascended the metal frame steps to the command centers' overlooking control tower, easily only half the height of the radio tower. She brushed the loose snow off her shoulders before marching into the room and snapping a salute to their instructor.
"Colonel Badanov, at ease." said the old Russian man who stood with his arms clasped behind his back. "I'm sure you're aware of our upcoming match with the West. We will be fighting them in our home territory, so I want you to study the map layouts in great detail. Do you understand Commander? I want you memorizing the field. Need I reinforce the stakes of this match?"
Still standing at attention, Natalia shook her head. "No sir. I understand completely. I will do mother Russia proud. But I must know sir, what match will we be playing? Annihilation? Flag? Domination?" she asked, starting to list off less traditional match types; "Headquarters? CTF?"
"We will have four matches, three of which are worth a single point, the last one being worth two." the instructor explained. "The match list will be as follows: Annihilation-90, Headquarters-45, Domination-90 and then the final match will be a War Game-45."
Upon hearing that, Natalia tensed up. "War Game? Sir." she'd only gotten to take part in a single War Game before, it was a match type nearly exclusive to the Cold War when there were still plenty of adversaries to go up against. These days a War Game was nearly impossible to set up, at least a full scale one. The one she was in had been essentially neutered what with only half of the optimal players.
"Yes, War Game. You're familiar with the rules of play for it, no?" asked the instructor.
Natalia nodded, she was. It was unlike any game mode that the Japanese would have played, established after Russian observers saw Tankery in action after the Second World War.
"Why are they allowed out of their tanks for recon if they cannot be shot at?" it was said one of the observers asked, resulting in the War Game format being thought of. A style of Tankery in which the rules of engagement were overhauled and the weapons were altered drastically. Live ammo was still used against enemy armor, but all machine guns were (at the time) loaded with rubber ammunition - though modern machine guns used special paintballs now - and small arms and combined warfare tactics were adopted. As such, War Games allowed infantry to accompany the Tanks using both anti-infantry weapons as well as anti-tank weapons; bazookas, anti-tank grenades, mines, satchel charges, anti-tank rifles and even emplaced anti-tank guns. A War Game match was set up in similar fashion to a Domination game, where teams had to take various positions, however in this style, the positions were not so much Victory Points but Resource Points which would give advantages to whichever team controlled them, allowing whoever controlled said points an easier time destroying the enemy team's command center. Victory was achieved by either destroying the enemy command center or through the attrition mechanic, which prevented teams from fielding any more players.
"Good." replied the instructor. "Get your sub-commanders together then, Colonel. You've work to do." as he slipped on his own ushanka and started to head for the door.
"Da!" Natalia barked back, snapping a salute and holding it until he left, the door clicking shut behind him. With that, she eased up and slipped her now damp ushanka off her head and shook it out, letting her bright brown hair down, just above her shoulders. She set her hat down on the table in the center of the command center tower, peering down at the maps left behind by the instructor for her to study. "Interesting" she thought; each map was labeled with the match type it was associated with.
The Annihilation match was to take place on the Iron Curtain course; a heavily urban based course that took place in a mock Berlin, complete with Berlin Wall. There would be heavy close quarters fighting. Since it was a ninety style match, she could bring forth such tanks as the T-55, T-64, T-72 and T-80U. No T-90s however, since they entered service in '93 and fell outside the regulations. Also, much to her disappointment, no T-14s… she groaned, with those they'd cream the Americans without question. She was aware of the T-72's flaws, their guns couldn't angle very high or low due to the tank's profile, but in an urban setting, that shouldn't be a problem.
The second match was a Headquarters match, taking place in the Seelow course; this course was wide and open, with large fields and long range sights to work with. Tree cover was going to be sparse and environmental cover would come in the form of the occasional cliff or odd structure and plenty of bunkers. The few tank bunkers it had were in highly defensible positions, which played to the match's style; Headquarters. Headquarters was essentially King of the Hill with tanks. One team was selected to defend, the other to attack. The attacking team was allowed twice as many tanks at the defender, but the defender got to take the field early to set up defenses which came in the form of mines and tank traps, while also getting to claim the better positions. Natalia hoped they got to be the attacker, even if that would be just a bit unfair; knowing all the positions as she would.
Third was the Domination match, another ninety match, set in the Musha course; which broke tradition with the other maps being based in Europe and was set in the middle-east. This was a bit of a sore spot for Natalia, she wasn't looking forward to duking it out in the desert; the course held vast open swaths of desert, narrow canyon corridors and various cave systems. Since it was a Domination match, that meant the teams would have to split up into three groups, two at least, and take and hold two of the three victory points on the map. One was situated in the village in the middle of the map, another at an oasis at east of the map and the last in a maze of canyons to the west. This would definitely be a varied match, but it was also a Cold War era match. She knew for a fact that the Americans would bring the M1 Abrams to bear and her T-72s would be at a severe disadvantage if they couldn't level the playing field with cover… she couldn't help but feel that this match was set up by officials to try and prove a point. To settle an old score if you will.
The final match, the War Game, was set in her home territory. Back in Russia, and hopefully back in the snow. The course was vast, the largest of the four courses with two full sized towns at either end of the course and a few smaller villages scattered between them. The terrain varied from east to west of the map, featuring mountains, hills, valleys, rolling plains and expansive tundran forests. Natalia stared at the map that dwarfed the other three, physically shaking in her boots with anticipation. The other three matches didn't elicit this kind of emotion from her. Since it was first to three and the final match was worth four, it might not happen if she won the first three rounds, since there'd be no point. She contemplated throwing one of the matches just to be able to fight on this course. Maybe the Domination match? The officials could suck it, Afghanistan was a mess and they knew it. Russia's Vietnam. Eh… she'd see.
She'd study the maps in greater detail later, for now, she needed to round up her lieutenants.
Natalia patted her chest down, hands still covered in thick grip mittens, searching for her personal radio, finding the mic for it nestled in her right chest pocket. Pressing the button on the side, she lifted it up to her mouth; "Nisha, Mishka, I require your presence in the command tower." she lowered the receiver and awaited the reply, releasing the button.
The electronic beep on her radio signaled an incoming response; "Da Komandir, I will be there shortly." replied Nisha, the sound of sporadic gunfire could be heard during her transmission, they must have been at the firing range.
Natalia then waited a while longer, waiting for her third's reply… nothing. "Nisha, have you seen Mishka?" she asked.
"I believe she and her team are taking one of the T-14s for a ride." replied Nisha.
Natalia groaned and peered outside the tower; one of the T-14s had retired for the night, she could see it pulling into one of the motor pools as it shut it's headlight off. The other one however was still lit up, taking laps around the now dark track. "I have a feeling I know why she's not responding… meet in the command tower in ten."
"Da Komandir." replied Nisha, ending transition.
And with that, Natalia drew her officer's Nagant revolver and loaded a single live round into it and marched outside, stepping out onto the metal frame stairs and staring down the T-14 now doing donuts on the track. She narrowed her eyes and took aim at the tank with her pistol and fired a bullet at the tank, her revolver barking a sharp and loud report as she fired. The bullet impacted the side of the tank with a ringing ping and the tank stopped doing loops, skidding to a halt.
In the distance, Natalia could see the lights on a few barracks turn on and a couple of the tanker girls peek outside, but she didn't care if she interrupted their beauty sleep. Slowly the hatch of the T-14 opened up and Mishka peeked her long silver haired head out of the tank. Natalia could hear a techno version of the Soviet anthem emitting from the tank, she glowered and shakily sighed, barely containing her annoyance. Mishka however was oblivious to the onlooking commander at first, scanning the area before finally landing her gaze on the commander atop the tower with her smoking Nagant in one hand, receiver in the other.. In an almost comical fashion, the volume of the music emitting from the tank slowly quieted until shutting off completely.
Natalia again razed her radio and tuned out of Nisha's channel, only synced to Mishka's. She inhaled sharply and then bellowed into the receiver; "SYKA BLYAT! I SAID TO THE COMMAND TOWER!"
She could see Mishka nearly jump out of the tank as Natalia's voice echoed through the base and shrieked out of the tank's radio. She feverishly groped for her own radio's reciever. "D-da Komandir!" she yelped back before climbing out of the tank in a hurry, nearly faceplanting into the oily snow below the T-14.
Natalia holstered her Nagant and shook her head in disbelief. How Mishka rose to Major was beyond her. She furrowed her brow, she'd better get her act together or she was clearing the track; by hand. With that pleasant thought in mind, Natalia returned inside the command tower to await her officers, perhaps she'd ask Nisha to grab some cherry piroshkis from the mess hall on her way up. But none for Mishka. No pastries for second rate officers.
Earlier that same day…
"WOO!" Kay exclaimed, charging into the Student Council chambers causing Alisa and Naomi to jump as she crashed through the door. The way Alisa jumped, tossing her bag of pretzels to the wind and scattering them across the dead, no doubt she was nearly given a heart attack.
Naomi was the first to recover from the brief shock, hand clasped over her chest, leaning against the desk that Alisa sat at, feet having been just kicked up onto the top. Naomi extended her hand, a remote in hand, turning the stereo off and shutting Dean Martin up for the time being. Alisa was too busy picking up pretzels atop the desk to ask questions... so Naomi filled that role.
"What's got you in such a mood?" she asked, pushing off the desk, shifting her hand to her hip.
"This!" Kay chirped, vaulting over the sofa between her and the desk, slapping a sheet of paper onto the desk, further startling Alisa.
"Will you quit it!" she barked, more pretzels being strewn about, many flying off the desk.
Naomi bent over slightly, her eyes shifting down to the notice Kay had produced. Most of it was written in English, so it took her a moment to mentally make the switch from Japanese. Once she'd finally translated the message, her eyes widened. "Holy crap!" she exclaimed, probably the first time Kay had seen her get excited over something.
"Yeah! We're going to America!" Kay shrilly cheered.
"What?" Alisa asked from below the desk, causing Kay to raise a brow... then she stuck her head up, dropping a handful of floor pretzels on the desk. She shot Kay an unimpressed look, clearly not pleased with her wasting of perfectly good snacks. "I mean... that's awesome and all, but... why?" Alisa asked, "I'd sound more excited but I'm just a little peeved right now... so... yeah."
"Oh!" Kay hopped slightly, clasping her hands for a moment, clearing her throat, then jabbing a finger at Alisa. "You." then jabbing a thumb at Naomi, "Naomi." then to herself. "And yours-truely." she stated, "Are going to America, to provide experienced teachers in the sport of Sensho-do."
"Woah... that's pretty cool!" Alisa muttered, standing up fully. "Wait, is it just the three of us?"
Kay faltered slightly... "Uhhh... Y-yeah..."
"And how many are we supposed to train?" Alisa continued.
"Err... w-well, they didn't provide a hard number, but said... they were bringing in several dozens... of... players. O-over a hundred." Kay stammered. She'd been so excited at the prospect of going to America that the task ahead of them, hadn't really sunk in completely.
"Kay! That's ridiculous!" Alisa exclaimed "We can't teach over a hundred players at once!"
Kay thought for a moment... if only she had more seasoned commanders she could call in... wait... Kay snapped her fingers. "I got it! Why don't we ask around the Japanese schools, see if any of them would be willing to contribute."
"But not all of them have quite as high of a... English standard as us." Naomi muttered, raising her hand slightly, fingers fulled as she stared down at them, picking at her nails. "The only other school that has English as a high priority is St. Gloriana's."
"Well... we can ask them, sure... but I was also thinking of asking Miho and the girls at Ooarai. They did win the last championship. Having them along would, I think, really give us an edge in showing these Western girls how its done." Kay said, seeing American was going to be awesome, even if it was for only a bit, as according to the message they'd gotten, they would be boarding an American school ship not long after arriving, but still, it was kind of America. An American ship, with American culture and American... well, everything. But even so, teaching these Western girls Sensho-do, after all this time they'd been without. Kay realized, slowly, just how daunting a task this was going to be.
Alisa nodded. "Alright, well... we can translate if needed. Especially if we're going to bring St. Gloriana along, that will help us communicate."
Kay extended an arm, giving Alisa a thumbs up and a wink. "There we go! And while we're at it, we can see how the West used to do Tankery. I heard they used a different rule set than us. Gotta admit, I'm a bit curious."
"What, like different tanks and stuff?" Alisa asked.
Kay chuckled, nodding. "Yep, their styles are split in two; with World War Two era matches and then Cold War era matches, using more modern tanks. Also they've got this War Game rule... I've only heard about it, but apparently it turns Sensho-do into an entirely new sport."
"Yeah, I've heard about it as well... only the Russians have really continued Sensho-do to Western standards..." commented Naomi. "And they're pretty hardcore."
"Well, as long as we're not going up against the Russians any time soon, we should be fine." Kay replied, reaching down to pick the paper back up, looking down at it. This was exciting. Getting to go abroad, see new places... she'd never thought she'd be going over seas by now, but it was a pleasant surprise. "Well, lets pack up our things and send out the calls, America awaits!"