TEAM USA

A long night means a long rest, and that means nothing would get done until the afternoon. The Americans had gathered in a small board room at the top of the Saunders' carrier overlooking the city. From their high perch, they could watch the tanks roll out onto the streets to irritate and intimidate the poor Russian drivers, or wave at the pilots as they flew by the tower.

"The match has a maximum of twenty five tanks and just as many planes," said Alisa as she wrote the line ups on the board, "Last round was a learning experience. We used the same line ups we always did, and AirCom tried to adapt to the new ground attack role."

Alisa was the first lieutenant of Saunders. She was shorter than average and had short hair tied up into pig tails. She had a very slender frame unlike her friends and freckles across her nose. Like everyone else she wore the standard grey blazer and red skirt Saunders uniform.

"We need to change our tank line up in order to counter the enemy air."

Pop!

Naomi popped her pink bubble gum and kept chewing. The second lieutenant had boyishly short hair but a curvaceous feminine figure. As the ace gunner of Saunders she had to have keen vision, and the devious twinkle in her brown eyes showed it.

"So, we goin' with faster tanks?" asked Naomi, "We were pretty slow getting away from those fighter bombers."

"Partly our fault," said Ted "Tuskegee" Franklin, "Out interceptors got pulled away by another flight. Tanks have to keep their distance too. You guys got mixed in and we couldn't bomb because of friendly fire."

Ted "Tuskegee" Franklin was the team captain of the Screaming Eagles of Midway High School. The senior seemed to fit every young girls dream: tall, dark, handsome. Tall at about six foot, dark not only from the colour of his skin, but his short curly black hair, and handsome from his strong body and chiseled face. He wore a thick pilot's jacket, emblazoned with the Screaming Eagle on the back, over a casual red collared shirt and paired it off with a pair of well-worn jeans and sneakers.

"Eh, it was just danger close," said Naomi, "No big deal."

"Tomahawk, got any ideas?"

Allen "Tomahawk" Smith was the second in command for Screaming Eagles. Just as tall as Tuskegee but wider around the belly. A sad victim of American fast food, but that didn't stop him. He had wavy blonde hair that hadn't been cut in months. Hazel eyes were barely distinguishable through the thick bush of bangs. Tomahawk was far more casual in his dress, wearing just a t-shirt and jeans.

"I want to know more about the enemy tankery team. And we need to brief everyone on Sturmovik. So let's start there before we get into line ups and formations. But I think we've pretty much learned that heavy bomber carpet bombing isn't going to work."

"Umm… I'd like that too if you don't mind."

"Good thinkin'" said Tuskegee

Naomi looked over her shoulder at the timid looking guy in the back. He had crew cut his blond hair and had bright green eyes. He was very thin, seeming like a single little hug could snap him in half. The red fie in his sky blue dress uniform indicated he was a freshman.

"Who are you again?"

"Uhh…"

"He's our rookie wing leader," said Tuskegee, "Go on, introduce yourself."

"Rookie wing leader Timothy Williams," he saluted.

"Call sign's Hatchling One," said Tomahawk, "Hasn't earned his name yet."

"He'll get there," said Tuskegee, "So about Pravda's tanks."

"Kei's probably the best to ask," said Alisa, "Hey, Kei could you…"

The plucky commander was sitting at the back of the room trying to balance a pencil on her lip. The tight pink plastic terror of the Anko suit was still constricting her.

"Kei! Care to help us out."

The pencil dropped and clattered to the floor. Kei nodded and walked up to the board with a sunny smile.

"Okay! Nobody knows Pravda better than I do. When we face them their line up looks like this," Kei wrote on the board, "Lots of heavier armour and T-35-85s. Out range, outgun, and surround is usually what they do. The Ooarai vs Pravda match is a pretty good demonstration. Do we still have that recording?"

"In the back," said Alisa, "Any ideas, Eagles?"

"A few," said Tuskegee, "How fast do those heavy tanks go?"

"Fifty kph, give or take a few. Probably slower depending on terrain."

"We're all strike fighters, captain. It's just a matter of getting bombs on target," said Tomahawk, "Problem is the enemy air."

"Yeah, what's Pravda's air like?" asked Kei.

"Tough. Russian planes, man, heavily armoured with a lot of fire power," Tuskegee took his place at the head of the room, "Fighters will probably by La's and Yaks. IL-2 support aircraft. Not much for anti-ground without rockets but a pain for our laden fighters."

"What about bombers?"

"Nothing to worry about," said Tomahawk, "Lighter bombers are easy to pick off, heavy bombers are as maneuverable as a tub. We'll can take them out easy."

"Like the B-17?" quipped Naomi.

"It did its job and pulled away a wing of fighters," said Tuskegee.

"Here's a question, are you going to be able to intercept all of them? What if one gets through?" posed Alisa.

"Then we're dead," joked Kei.

"Screaming Eagles will focus on first strike," said Tuskegee, "We'll wipe out as many tanks before you even see them and knock out the air right after. Hmm… but we'll need a follow up. I wonder if those frontline bombers would do any good."

"I might have an idea," said Timothy, "But I think we need to consider another thing first."

Everyone looked over at the rookie.

"The time of the match."

TEAM RUSSIA

It was early in the morning, and the city was just starting to wake. But by this time, both Pravda men and women had assembled in a large dark lecture hall. A projector hung overhead. The Pravda emblem shone brightly on the screen. The two commanders and their lieutenants waited for the rank and file to settle.

"All eyes forward!" commanded The Bear, "Silence, immediately."

The pilots snapped forward while the girlish tankers shuffled into silence.

"Comrade Commander Katyusha, would you like to begin?"

"Pilots first. Katyusha wants to hear your plan since your air support was obliterated last match."

"I warned you that Ohka was formidable. You're unwillingness to account for them was also to blame for our defeat," said Comrade Wolf.

"Comrade Wolf! Do no disrespect the commanders," said Comrade Bear, "But I must agree with my subordinate. There were failures on both ends."

"Agreed, Commander Vasily 'Bear' Romanov," said Nonna, "And we not make those same mistakes. Will we, Katyusha?"

"Katyusha does not make the same mistake twice."

"Comrade Artyom 'Wolf' Sokolov, take control of the projector," The Bear took his place behind the podium, "Our enemy is the Americans. We've face them before and every time it was a bloody battle. A victory followed by a defeat followed by a victory. But now we are breaking new ground in this combined arms tournament. We underestimated the Yaponskiy and Britanskaya, but we are very familiar with this foe."

The projector flipped the image. The silhouettes of American fighters appeared with detailed statistics and characteristics. The pilots were less interested, having fought Midway for years on end, but tank commanders were particularly interested. As The Bear continued to speak, his comrade moved highlighted areas of interest.

"Every American plane is capable of dropping bombs of five hundred kilograms or greater. They also have a large bomber fleet brimming with machine guns. Experience has taught us these are no push overs when assaulting. The Americans are experts at bombing."

Wolf switched the image to a video. Clips of Americans bombing and strafing with pin point accuracy. The massive bombs flashing brighter and thundering louder than anything they had experienced before.

"Tankists, your task to assist AirCom is simple. Don't get hit. Cover and move, cover and move."

"Easier said than done."

"Comrade Katyusha, the floor is yours."

"Nonna."

Nonna took The Bear's place and the flipped the projector to Saunders' tanks. As with the aircraft, the pilots had more interest in the ground forces than the tankers. There was less variety than the aircraft. Saunders focused on a single, well made, jack of all trades design rather than specialists tanks. Still the Sherman was a respectable advisory.

"This is the most common tank for Saunders. Depending on the variant it can pierce our armour from one hundred to seven hundred fifty meters. They also have many light tanks but they are not of concern. Average speed is about fifty kilometers per hour. Pravda expects you will not have difficulty destroying these vehicles."

"Leave it to the tanks then. Air to air, tank to tank."

"No, if we do that we lose valuable assets because our tanks will be under air assault and ambushed sooner than we engage their armour," said Nonna, "Saunders tactics are focused on speed and overwhelming firepower. They know how to use numbers to maximum effectiveness. Do not underestimate them, so Sturmovik must engage enemy tanks."

"So what's the plan?"

"The Americans will come to us," said Vasily, "Sturmovik will form into three groups. IL-2 ground support, escort, and interception. Interception will seek and destroy the American bombers."

"What about the fighters?"

"As Sturmovik follows over the tanks, the Americans will come. Escort group will deal with them."

"But we IL-2s will be vulnerable."

"Escort will protect and if you fall, know that your sacrifice saved a tank below. Victory is determined by the tankery team we are there to support. Understood, comrade?"

"Yes sir."

"What is the tankery team's plan?"

"As we always plan. The Cauldron."