Chapter 4
The Roster
Author's Note: EXPOSITION! I'll be honest; this chapter won't be very interesting. It's just an establishment of the tournament and the nations taking part. Don't fret however, next chapter we get a nice proper match! It's also the shortest so far… On with it then. I promise the next one'll make up for it. (also sorry about the wait, have been otherwise occupied, be it with other writing or the holidays)
7:41 AM, War Room
The club had been woken early and corralled into the war room by the commanders. Cups of coffee were scattered across the room, barely managing to battle back the sleep from some of them. A television had been wheeled into the room, and Lawrence stood behind it. He shifted nervously, eyes scanning his team. When the last of them were finally shoved inside by Walker, Hensley shut the blinds and the TV was turned on. Just in time too, as the roaring crowd lasted only a minute before an announcer's voice began narrating the proceedings.
"Paige Hopkins here, reporting from the Fiftieth European International Tankery Tournament. We're just about to begin the announcements for national representation!" Several flags hung from the cieling, one for every nation participating. A large screen was behind them, ready to display the tournament's match-ups. The team looked to Lawrence, who nodded to them with a slight smile.
The representatives weren't all that shocking. Barcelona High for Spain, Nantes for France, Wrocław for Poland. There were two mild surprises from the majors, with Munich representing Germany and a small-town school of Nizhny representing Russia. The biggest shock, of course, came when the British team was announced.
"And now for the British team's announcement, and…" The crowd's reaction was rather mixed. There was considerable booing, some confused faces who clearly didn't know what was so different about Bridlington's team, but thankfully a good many cheers. "Well. I suppose we'll get to see just how Bridlington holds up when compared to the traditional team. Good luck to them." It was audible that saying that last part was difficult for her.
The rest of the teams were announced, and soon enough the mainstay of the event came: The first matches. "Match one announcement here. And it is… The Germans versus the Lithuanians! The battlefields will be announced next week, after the League has reviewed the match participants. Oh, we're about to get the teams for match two. And the first team is Antwerp High, for Belgium. Team two is… Ah, it's Bridlington! Match two will be Belgium versus Britain. I suppose we can hope they replicate their recent victory."
The whole room found themselves laughing. Lawrence leant on the cart. "Well then, I suppose they'll get another go at us rather soon."
Hensley shushed the room. "Pay attention. It's good to know who we might end up against." Lawrence nodded, and drew the team's attention back to the event.
"Match three's first participant is Hudiksvall Academy, from Sweden. And their opponent is Villach High, from Austria."
Walker nudged Lawrence, nodding to the TV. "So who'd you think would win then? The
Austrians again?"
He shook his head. "They usually win in these rivalry matches, but I've heard only good things about Hudiksvall. Both using German machines, correct?"
One of the commanders affirmed this, as the next match was announced. "Here's an interesting one. Mangalia, the Romanian team, versus Nantes. The last match between Romania and France in the International was nine years ago. The Romanian team of that year went on to the semifinals."
The last four matches were mostly ignored by the team, as they debated who would win, and who'd they end up against. The matches were as follows: Slovakia vs Bulgaria, Serbia vs Poland, the Netherlands vs Spain, and Italy vs Russia.
As Ms. Hopkins gave her closing statements, Lawrence turned off the TV. "Alright everyone. Our next match will be in about a week. I expect Antwerp to be training quite a bit to beat us in the next match. Don't expect me to let up on the regime just because we beat them once. Go rest, but be ready for practice at the regular time. On your way now!"
8:12 AM, Antwerp High Tankery Clubroom
"Die erste Mannschaft ist Antwerpen hoch! Ihr Gegner ist… Bridlington! Viel Glück Mädchen!" (Announcement of the teams being Antwerp and Bridlington, and wishing the girls good luck.) The team turned to Aliza. Her face was frozen in a mix of fury and sick delight. Clearly she had hoped to get another chance at Bridlington. They wouldn't be allowed to humiliate her, and she wouldn't allow them to go any further than they had already.
"Frau Aliza?" Her second shook her gently, which roused her from her trance. She stood suddenly. "Zur Garage! Wir müssen trainieren. Beeile dich!" (To the garage! We need to train. Hurry up!)
Five days later, European Tankery League Board Room
The many officials of the League, many former team leaders, sat gathered around a large table. A computer was set up in front of each, so as to scan for interesting battlegrounds. "Alright, so the German-Lithuanian match will be in a nice mid-point, in Sopot. Now, on to our more unusual two: the co-eds and Antwerp. Where to have them battle?"
"Let's have it in Britain. Perhaps on the coast?"
Ms. Levasseur scanned for an interesting locale. "Oh, how about Sandwich Bay? It's just north of Dover. We could put Antwerp on the beach; put Bridlington either inland or up the beach somewhat. Have it be like Antwerp invading Britain."
Several spoke their agreement. The director, Mrs. Foster, mulled it over. "Well… We can't go giving Bridlington an advantage. We'll go ahead and start them both just off the coast. I like the little story behind the location though. And the terrain's interesting enough. Very well, all in favor?"
Just over half the room raised their arms. "Well alright. The British-Belgian match will be in Sandwich Bay. On to Swedish-Austrian."
…
Lawrence had become used to taking morning jogs around town. It usually only took an hour, and it was a good way to wake himself up for practice. As he was making his way down the walkway on the edge, the ship's horn sounded. After a moment, he noticed they were pulling away from the shore. Just as he noticed this his phone began to sound.
An energetic voice came from the other end. He could almost hear Ms. Levasseur smiling. "Bonjour, Lawrence. Vous êtes bien?"
He couldn't help but laugh. She was always so cheerful. It was genuinely infectious. "Oui madame, je vous remercie."
"Très bien Lawrence. Anyway, I'm calling to tell you the match location's been set."
Lawrence watched over the rail as the town drifted away. "Well, we've just departed, so I'd figured as much. Where are we off to then?"
"Pas loin, to Sandwich Bay. You'll be getting a map of the battlefield soon. Just do what you did in Alexandria, non? Then all you need to do is… Well, win."
"Ha, yes. Hardly even a challenge. Also… Pas loin?"
"Oh, pardonnez-moi. Not far. Anyway, bonne chance Lawrence. Au revoir!"
He slipped his phone back into his pocket. It was a nice day out, and he still had roughly an hour before practice began. He watched as his hometown drifted away, and found himself missing home. As the horn sounded once more, he resumed his run. Sentiment or no, he had a schedule to keep to.
