…
Birch Gun turned his turret. His drive wheels didn't move. He was absolutely stuck.
There was absolute silence still. Birch Gun noted that nobody came down the corridor he was detracked in. He saw the green tank's rear wheel. It was presumably shot at.
Birch Gun mustered enough pain resistance to attempt to drive. The gaping hole in his hull was taxing on his power of moving. He tried harder and his wheels started to spin. His tracks finally moved and he forcefully drove into a wall. Birch Gun drove back and he spun into the rear wheel.
Birch Gun picked the rear wheel up with his gun. He dropped it into his crew compartment.
Birch Gun spotted a rusty box moving towards him. Its tracks rumbled as it trundled down the corridor. Birch Gun discovered it was Churchill Gun Carrier, and that he was moving towards Birch Gun at an agonizingly slow speed.
Birch Gun waited for him to finally arrive. When he did, Birch Gun waited for him to speak.
"A-ahem…" Churchill Gun Carrier croaked. "Here's some… medical supplies." Churchill Gun Carrier groaned. He attempted to shake a bag off the top of his hull. He almost tipped over but he managed to drop the bag on the floor. He drove back and pushed it to Birch Gun, prompting him to open it.
Birch Gun stabbed the bag with his gun, opening it up. Birch Gun looked at Churchill Gun Carrier with discontent.
"W-what is this!?" Birch Gun screamed, his rage fuelled by pain-induced adrenaline.
"Um… uh…" Churchill Gun Carrier slipped on his words. "I-I don't know, I just took them from the me—"
"Mechanical room?" Birch Gun sneered.
"M-Medical room." Churchill Gun Carrier replied. He was taken aback by Birch Gun's hostile response.
Birch Gun stared at the open bag. "Nuts n' bolts. I can't use these!"
"Are you sure?" Churchill Gun Carrier had no knowledge of anything whatsoever; he just tried to wing it in the 'medical room'.
"They're just nuts and bolts. I need new plating or something."
"Oh, right." Churchill Gun Carrier slowly spun around. A few minutes after, he was in position to drive off. He did so.
Birch Gun waited for his inevitable return. He looked at the rear wheel. It was fairly heavy.
Suddenly, a green blur hopped past him. Birch Gun was blinded. He recovered and saw the blur again. It stopped right next to him with a mind-bendingly loud screech. It almost topped over.
It was the green tank. Its once shiny armour was now caked by dust and other unsightly substances.
Birch Gun recognised the tank instantly as the one who was assaulted mercilessly by Hellcat and was hopping along with its engine being licked by relentless fire. The green tank had magnificent sloped armour with a lovely slab of spaced armour on the side of its turret. Its gun was small, but it looked like it could do some damage. The tank was missing a rear wheel.
Birch Gun greeted it sheepishly.
"Um… hi…" he murmured, inaudibly.
The green tank was fuming for some reason. "So, you're the one." It spoke with an accent Birch Gun couldn't identify. He had heard something like it before in his battles, but not much.
"You stole my wheel! I have been searching all over for the place for it, and you have it. Thief!"
"U-um, I was only k-keeping it for you…"
"Liar! Thief! Hooligan! Rapscallion! Rebel! Evil!" It seemed that the raging green tank was spitting out random words at this point. It snatched the wheel from Birch Gun and drove off clumsily. It was hard to drive without a rear wheel.
Birch Gun spotted the shiny green plates on the back of its hull. He figured it was when it went to the medical room. The plates were fitted expertly.
He watched the tank stagger and spin in circles. Birch Gun snickered a little bit to himself.
Then, he reminded himself of the hole in his hull. His poor gun depression disallowed him to look at it directly.
Birch Gun heard rumbling. He turned his turret and he saw the familiar rust-cursed behemoth rolling towards him. Preparing for the inevitable failure, Birch Gun sighed. What would Churchill Gun Carrier bring this time?
Birch Gun heard Churchill Gun Carrier's engine croaking from a mile off. He was going considerably slower this time around.
Churchill Gun Carrier finally arrived. "I think I have the stuff for you now." Churchill Gun Carrier puffed. He was clearly fatigued from the taxing endeavour he had to go on.
Birch Gun waited patiently for Churchill Gun Carrier to drop his load. His patience was dwindling with every second.
Churchill Gun Carrier unloaded the loot. A wrench, a rusty blowtorch and some metal struck the ground. Birch Gun was silent.
"So…" Churchill Gun Carrier began. "I'm going to operate on you!" He grabbed the wrench enthusiastically.
"What!" Birch Gun screeched. He did not want to be operated on by a tank destroyer that can't hit a target from a metre away.
"U-uh, Churchill, it's o-okay, I'll survive." Birch Gun croaked. He was incapable of speaking properly.
"Don't worry Birch Gun; I'm a qualified tank surgeon." Churchill Gun Carrier laughed heartily.
It occurred to Birch Gun that Churchill Gun Carrier didn't even select the correct tool for the job. A wrench?
"But first, I'll have to use the blowtorch." He picked up the blowtorch with delight.
Birch Gun was frozen with fear. He could not express himself or anything, until Churchill Gun Carrier dropped his tools. He started to laugh and couldn't stop. Birch Gun looked at him until he started wheezing and coughing. Noxious smoke punched out of his engine. When it finally cleared up, he looked at Birch Gun.
"What was that?" Birch Gun inquired, puzzled.
"Y-You're so gullible! Haha!" Churchill Gun Carrier laughed with a raspy voice. "You actually thought I was a tank surgeon!"
Birch Gun was silent again, rage building up in him. It felt as if a skyscraper of anger was about to be knocked down, destroying the city below it.
Churchill Gun Carrier continued. "Yeah, I don't have anything to give you to fix that hole."
Birch Gun saw a stream of tanks drive in front of him. They were going outside of the academy.
"Oh yeah, it's time to go home. I hope you can make your way home…" Churchill Gun Carrier's tracks rumbled and he trundled off. Birch Gun would go red, if he wasn't a tank.
His engine rumbled, and he set off, albeit in pain.
Birch Gun settled into his room. He had greeted his mother and instantly gone upstairs. He drove onto his tank bed and flicked on his laptop. It started up and he took hold of the mouse. He bought the mouse from ArtyFest a few years ago when he was a little Loyd Gun Carriage. It was a FV304 mouse, with a FV304 mousepad. Birch Gun was ambitious.
He instantly got a message. He loaded up TankLive Instant Messager and was bombarded by the same messages that nuked him a few days ago.
"OMG, ur on!" It was T57. She was clearly excited.
Birch Gun typed slowly. "Yes, I'm on…"
"i was waiting 4 u to come on. i was getting pretty bored."
"Doing what?" Birch Gun sighed.
"receptionist work. The t92 thing forces me to do boring stuff."
Birch Gun left the laptop. He looked out of his window. Normally he'd see UE 57 driving along, but he didn't. Birch Gun instantly returned to the laptop and quickly typed "Gotta go."
"Goyt \aghko/" Birch Gun disappeared.
"what?" T57 replied.
No reply.
