Sunday, September 8th 2013
A day off did her good, her batteries recharged. Though Valarie had to fill in for Madison unexpectedly, she did actually find enjoyment going to that emergency student council and playing her role in it as it was different from her day to day life. Though she was more than eager to get right back into things.
"Labor of love?" Madison asked curiously. "What does that mean exactly?"
"Things people do in their spare time. True passion projects. I think people who create art for themselves and not for a grade is a greater expression of their character." Valarie explained, pride filling her voice.
Madison smiled and nodded.
"Nicely said and well-done for being instrumental to organizing the exhibition on such a short notice," she complimented. "Viola is already being, ah, well, you know."
"A pain?"
"...Yes. But don't tell her I said that. I like the girl, I truly do. Don't want her to reconsider and leave," Madison's grin grew. "You know, word has spread like lightning. We're already receiving submissions."
"That's good to hear," Valarie remarked. "I do want to go to that exhibition when Wednesday comes."
"For sure. No doubt they'll be all kinds of interesting art pieces. Especially from this one girl whose work is the pure definition of bizarre."
"Oh? What does she make?"
"She paints what she dreams, and by god, does the girl dream some weird stuff."
Dreams. Hearing that word compelled Valarie to reflect on her dreams. Before Mojave Rose revived its tankery team, the last time she dreamed was four years ago. Since then, in this year alone, she already had two. She still remembered the vivid details of each.
"What's her name?" Valarie asked.
"Andromeda."
Valarie looked at Madison for a few moments puzzled.
"Is that her nickname?"
"No, no. It's her legal name."
"Her parents named her after the galaxy?"
"She is named after a Greek mythological figure that the galaxy takes it name from."
"Huh. Okay. When a parent really wants a unique name for their child, they'll resort to anything I guess," Valarie noted. "Now, I wanna know more about practice yesterday. I would've asked you when you came home, but not long after you arrived you were fast asleep."
Madison let out a small laugh. The clothes she wore was still Valarie's uniform. As she had slept in it, it was all wrinkly."
"My oh my was it exhausting and fun at the same time. We followed your agenda to a tee, so it all went smoothly though Harper did see right through it. Oh...there is other thing." Madison said, her tone shifting to anxiousness.
"What is it?"
"I, uh, might have promised something regarding that Churchill."
"What did you promise, Madison?"
Madison took in a huge breath and brought her hands together.
"I promised that the Churchill will be repaired and ready faster than the SU. Uh. I've come to understand that the SU—"
"Took a whole day," Valarie finished. "Our SU-100 was very damaged when we got it. Just a hair from being destroyed. The whole team came together to repair the thing. It was a lot of work."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said—"
"But the Churchill is in better shape," Valarie went on. "For one, it's engine will not have to be reassembled, just installed in the proper place. For the tracks, sure, some track pieces and roadwheels are missing, but I'm willing to bet that these missing pieces are in that metal recycling plant, scattered around when the tank was first brought there."
"A search can be arranged. The forge will have to be shut off so that these parts aren't accidentally smelted."
"Cool. Finally, there is the matter of the turret. That'll need the most work. Removing the old gun then modifying the turret to accept the replacement. I think all the necessary repairs can be done during tomorrow's meeting."
"All in a meeting?" Madison questioned? "It seems like a tall order."
"A dozen or so people working on the thing should get it done in that amount of time," Valarie reasoned. She stood up from the couch the pair were sitting at and fetched her playbook. She got out the map of the battlefield to give it another glance. "When will we make port? I guess a better question is where 'cause Bolivia is a landlocked country."
"Right you are. By Tuesday we will have crossed the Panama Canal into the Pacific and on Thursday make port in Chile. Your team will have to leave for your match a few days in advance to acclimate."
"Acclimate? What for?"
"Your match location is twelve thousand feet above sea level. You and your team will need to acclimate to the riving elevation as air gets thinner the higher you go. The very last thing you want is to have attitude sickness while getting shot at."
"Well, someone did their homework."
Madison sported a blush.
"Ha. A few summers back my parents and I took a grand vacation. A tour of South America. The salt flats you are going to was a place my family went to. Utterly gorgeous. Told my mom the place would be a great place to shoot some sci-fi movie it looked totally 'alien.'
"And let me guess, she agreed and like within a year or two filing began, hmm?"
Madison stood up, the look on her face one of surprise.
"Woah. Exactly! You know the movie?"
Valarie chuckled.
"Sci-fi isn't my thing. The only movies I like are those old 2D animated Disney films and war movies. Not those super violent ones, though."
"Those genres cannot be any more different."
"Hey, I like what I like!" Valarie said defensively.
"And more power to you. So, what's the plan for today?"
With the map in hand, Valarie sat down at a nearby desk and uncapped a pen.
"Get started on making the strategy." she answered.
"You're gonna work? It's Sunday. You know, the whole day of rest. That sorta thing."
"My day of rest was yesterday."
"Alright. Suit yourself."
Before Madison could sit back on the couch to lounge, Valarie had something to ask of her.
"Oh, since you were wearing it yesterday, you mind washing my uniform?"
"...Sure."
Madison retreated to the bedroom to take off the uniform and wore on her own clothes that had an extravagant flair to them. After she spent a moment to adjust her hair to a style that defined here, with uniform in hand, she stepped out of the apartment and took a few steps down the hallway when she stopped. She was unsure what exactly to do as Madison has never done laundry before. Back in her home in Long Beach, her family had maids, chefs, and other kinds of people to maintain a five million dollar home. It was the maids that ensured Madison had clean clothes. Since she came to Catalina and started to live on her own, she did not learn how to do laundry, instead, opted to do to a nearby laundromat and pay for their services. But on this particular Sunday morning, she wasn't in the mood to walk all the way to the nearest laundromat, even though the walk would only be ten minutes at the longest. She would vastly prefer to go to a place to get some breakfast. Thankfully, as it tends to happen with a privileged life she has, Madison gets what she wants. Several doors down, a person emerged from their apartment with clothes in hand. Serendipity has struck twice in quick succession as this person too was heading out to the laundromat. It was a member of the Mojave Rose team. Their name, Madison didn't know. It didn't matter.
"Hey," she said with a snap of her fingers. The person turned around. "Wanna make fifty bucks?"
Monday
It was the lunch hour at Catalina and amid all the conversations, laughter, and some yelling, five people were grouped together at a lunch table, the crews of the AMR and the Puma. From her bag, Cassidy produced a piece of paper and placed it on the table. Aurora scooped it up and began to read it.
"Hmm," she hummed. "Some kind of news article about tankathlon."
"Yeah it is," said Cassidy. "Did a whole bunch of reading on it. The sport is more underground that I thought."
"No kidding," Aurora remarked. "The journalist who made this article interviewed some tankathlon participants and all of them demanded to remain anonymous. They said some interesting things. Tankathlon it seems can be organized, like having its own tournaments, but it can also be very spontaneous. Matches can be planned and conducted on the same day."
"With the ten ton weight limit, the logistics is easier. Especially when things like spectator's area aren't part of these matches. It's just pure tank combat. Anywhere. Anytime."
"Oh, I love the sound of that," Aurora commented with a excited smile. "We need to be in a tankathlon match as soon as possible. I'm not waiting till our next match to fire our guns. I need that thrill to live."
"Lucky for you, since I learned that this big boat is heading to Chile, I've started to look around for tankathlon matches in the country."
"And? Got anything?"
A grin on her face, Cassidy withdrew her phone and read aloud what she found.
"The Chilean Tankathlon Syndicate is hosting a series of matches for the month of September. These matches are in a free-for-all configuration. Six teams of two tanks each are to fight each other, with the last team standing the winner. All welcome to sign up."
"Why do they call themselves a syndicate?" Riley asked. "A name like that makes it sound like what they're doing is illegal."
"Syndicate is such a badass word," Cassidy said. "That's probably why they use it. Tankathlon isn't illegal though, so don't you worry about that. It's just that some of the more traditionalist people of tankery view it as something that's worth less than dirt."
"I don't give a damn what those traditionalists thinks," Aurora said with some energy. "All I care about right now is us getting in to those free-for-all matches. Can you arrange that?"
"I can try. When we make port I'll see what I can do. If we're lucky, we can have a match by this weekend."
"How are we gonna keep all this hidden from Valarie? From the rest of the team?" Nathan then said.
His sister scratched her chin.
"Hmm. I wanna try something."
"Try what?" Aurora inquired.
"I want to know Valarie's reaction to tankathlon. We could be very wrong here thinking that she'd be against it."
"Her supporting us will make everything so much easier." Avery noted.
"Yeah, but we gotta be sly about this. Can't just go up to her and flat out ask 'what do you think of tankathlon?'. Doing that will announce our interest to her and if she does not like tankathlon then we'll have a spotlight on us which would make doing the sport a bit more harder."
"How we get her to talk about tankathlon if we can't ask her?"
Cassidy shook the paper in her hand.
"She needs to find this on her own. We'll drop the paper near her tank and hope she picks it up. Me and Nathan will be nearby to hear her reaction and fill you guys with the details later."
"Alright, sounds good." Aurora remarked.
"Wait, why do I have to be with you?" Nathan asked.
"I volunteered you."
"More like volun-told."
Later
The moment the school day came to a close, Valarie rushed back to her apartment to slip into her uniform. Though today's meeting wouldn't start for two hours, Valarie wasn't going to wait. She had barely spent five minutes in her apartment when she proceeded to head for the door.
"Woah, where you going?" Emma called from the kitchen, in the middle of preparing a snack.
"The garage. Want to get give the Churchill an thorough inspection to find if there is anything else to repair."
"Oh." The sense of disappointment was strong in Emma's voice. Though the two shared the same classes, it was times like these when it was just them with no one watching. No need to constrain their affections for each other. Valarie felt her emotions and walked toward her.
"I hate to disappoint you," Valarie said, her voice smooth as silk. "But it's important."
"I know," Emma responded. The two held hands. "I should be used to things like this, but...I'm not. Sorry."
"Don't you be sorry for wanting to spend time with me, your girlfriend," Valarie rested her forehead against Emma's. A moment later, the two shared a long kiss that erased all feelings of disappoint from Emma's mood. "Catch you later."
"See ya." Emma said with a giggle. She felt like she was intoxicated.
With her girlfriend satisfied, Valarie promptly left for the garage. It was a lonely walk as usually Valarie would not only be with her crew, but with the rest of the team as well. The path to the garage, lined with houses and shops have become quite accustomed to the daily sight of over sixty teens all in World War II-era U.S Army tank crewman uniforms all in one group heading in the same direction. Now, it was just a solitary figure. Though Valarie has grown well beyond the point of feeling out of place when among people wearing day-to-day clothes. Her uniform might as well be an extension of her body at this point.
When she arrived, Valarie entered the garage and flipped on the lights. She turned her gaze to the Churchill and to her delight spotted a crate by the machine. Moving toward the crate, she opened it and her smile grew upon seeing pieces of tracks and roadwheels. Her hunch has been correct that the missing pieces for the tank were scattered around the metal recycling area. Madison has arranged for people to search the place and they managed to find the necessary pieces. As Valarie rummaged through through the parts, she was amazed that Madison had the clout necessary to even do this. The authority of a student council president is restricted to Catalina's campus. No, what gives Madison the ability to do this and much more was simply due to the fact who her mother was.
Next to the crate were the necessary tools to modify the Churchill's turret; Welding torches and accompanying gas canisters. Taking a closer look at the canister and Valarie found that one canister contained oxygen, and the other acetylene.
"That's the general purpose stuff, Val," her mother's words rang in her head. "Oxy-Acet is the stuff I use damn near everyday. That and arc welding."
"Wish you were here, Mom," Valarie said aloud. "I remember you saying how you loved working on the T-44."
Using the welding tools will have to wait, however, as there was a pressing matter. Valarie climbed upon the Churchill and first went to the engine deck, where there, she opened the rear hatch to look into engine compartment. There was a large space where the Bedford Twin-Six engine was supposed to be in, though Valarie expected that. Looking further, she saw what was still in their proper places. Radiator. Fuel pumps. Filters. These engine components weren't merely there, but they were in great condition, as if the tank hasn't been used for very long.
"Interesting." she commented.
From the engine compartment, she moved to the turret. The commander's hatch was opened and she climbed inside. The fighting compartment was covered with vaporized powder, the remnant of the explosion that occurred in the cannon barrel. Other than the filth, everything within the Churchill was in immaculate condition. Gun controls worked flawlessly, vision devices crystal clear, and the radio looked like it was installed just the other day. A few more minutes of inspection later and Valarie climbed out of the tank and stood in front of it. Hands at her hips, she shook her head and let out a laugh.
"The things people throw away."
Valarie guessed that whoever used to own the Churchill had it no longer than a few months and that when its gun was destroyed, instead of repairing it, they just discarded it.
With her inspection completed and no further problems identified, Valarie set out to begin repairs. The right tools were fetched from the boxes and grabbing one of the found roadwheels, got straight to installing them. There was something therapeutic about doing these repairs. Valarie adored working on tanks. She took her team working the tools, actually savoring each moment. It wasn't long before her freshly cleaned uniform had blotches of grease stained upon it and from the grime of the floor she laid on. An hour elapsed as Valarie worked on not only installing the roadwheels, but also performing maintenance on the ones that were already mounted. In all that time, she was in a pure state of bliss. Tranquility. The relaxation she had on her day off didn't come close to this. Not by a long shot.
"Valarie?"
Valarie stood right up when she heard her name being called. Turning to the source, she saw Gabrielle standing close-by. Valarie, so focused on the repairs, that she was totally oblivious to Gabrielle's arrival.
"Mrs. Redwood," Valarie greeted. "I, uh, I wanted to hit the ground running on getting the Churchill ready."
"I figured you would with what you said before practice. Man, you made some real strides, huh?" Gabrielle said, looking at the roadwheels. "Still, wait for the rest of the team to arrive. Pick some to help. It'll go faster that way."
"Gotcha."
"Alright, got some administrative work to handle. Fun stuff. Mind opening the garage doors ten minutes before the meeting starts?"
"You got it."
"Thanks."
Gabrielle walked toward the stairs that led to the second floor office when from the corner of her eye she spotted the welding torch and gas canister. Instantly, her heart skipped a beat and could already feel a sweat coming on. The memories, despite all the progress she had made, was still as fresh as ever. Gabrielle gave the welding tools a large berth as if they were a venomous snake, coiled, its tail rattling, ready to deliver a fatal strike. She moved quickly as she headed for the office.
Following what Gabrielle told her, Valarie laid on the Churchill and played on her phone. Somehow, time spent on her phone felt slow compared to when she was repairing the Churchill. Ten minutes prior to the start of the meeting, Valarie opened the large garage doors and soon members of the team trickled in and went about their routine. Once a good chunk of the team arrived, Valarie walked around the garage and politely asked members to help in the repair. She gathered eleven people from various crews and together they worked on the Churchill. The sounds of multiple tools in action all blended together harmony that can only be superseeded by the thunderous sound of a volley of cannon fire. The tracks and the roadwheels didn't take long and neither did the mounting of the engine, thanks to the ceiling-mounted crane that slipped the thing in its proper place. Once the right connections made and some fuel poured in, Valarie had the honor of starting the engine, its noise echoing throghout the garage to everyone's joy. But what is a tank if it cannot shoot? What remained to do was to replace the Six-Pounder with the old 75mm of the Sherman Jumbo. It was decided to make the job easier that the Churchill's turret is to be removed and placed on the floor where the modificaiton is to take place. Removing the bolts and other parts to detach the turret from the hull was a simple task enough, and the crane, though with a bit of struggle, lifted the turret and placed it on the garage floor.
"Alright, who wants to use the welder torch and start cutting?" Valarie offered, holding the torch in hand.
"Pass." said Lucy, driver of the ACIV.
"Hmm...no." rejected Lily, the Panther II's radio operator.
"Uhhh, maybe next time." said the gunner of the VK, Iris.
The rest of the repairers shook their heads.
"Alright," Valarie remarked. She put aside the torch and started to put on the protective clothing that came with the welding tools. "I'm not my mom, but I'll give it my best try."
Leaning against some shelves nearby, Cassidy watched Valarie as she prepared to do the welding.
"This is our chance Nathan," she told him. "Got the paper?"
Her brother held it proudly in his hand. He fashioned it into a paper airplane.
"Ready."
"I'll give you this, you make paper airplanes better than me."
He gave her the biggest smile then shifted his attention to Valarie. He visualized the travel of his paper craft in his mind and after a bit more mental prepartion, threw the airplane. Cassidy and Nathan quickly got out of view as the airplane glided toward its destination. Just as Valarie was to slip on a protective face shield, she noticed the paper land just by her feet. Curious, she picked it up and unfolded it.
"Watcha got there?" asked Iris.
"Some kind of article on...what...tankathlon?"
"Oooh, that sounds interesting!"
Just behind the Churchill, Cassidy and Nathan listened closely as Valarie continued to speak.
"Tankathlon is a form of tankery where the main rule is that tanks must be ten tons or less. Every single tankery governing body in all the countries that practice tankery has denounced it in some form. But people still do it."
"Maybe we can do tankathlon?" Lily suggested. "Don't we have tanks that fit the criteria?"
"We do. But we will not be doing tankathlon. This team is already controversial enough because of the fact that we're coed. If we do tankathlon, it'll just hurt us. Gives people who don't already like us another reason," Valarie flicked her head to have the face shield cover her. "Check this out."
With the paper in one hand, and a torch in the other, she incinerated the paper and let the cinders fall to the floor.
"And that's all we'll talk about that."
Her message was clear. This team will not do tankathlon.
"Okay," Cassidy remarked to her brother. "She, uh, she won't be supportive. At all."
"We gonna give up now?"
"Nah. We're still gonna do it. We'll now have to be all secret spy about it."
The siblings went to the Puma to share their findings. All the while, Valarie was now fully ready to get to work on the Churchill's turret. Before she ignited the torch, she reviewed a booklet she had gotten whose title stated,
Mark IV Churchill NA 75 Conversion Do-It-Yourself
"Okay...step one." Valarie said to herself.
The torch was lit and was brought to bare on the turret. Step one from the booklet stated that the old Six-Pounder gun was to be removed. Easy enough. The scorching hot flame seared the steel producing sparks that flew in all directions, the sounds being produced causing every person on the team to stop what they were doing to statre, only for a fraction of a second as the bright light from the welding work hurt their eyes. A half a minute later and Valarie stopped to check her work. She was surprised to see that the torch hasn't gone all the way through and that she has only made a sort of 'canal' in the steel.
"Not hot enough."
She twisted a valve on the canister to deliver more gas to the torch. When it was reingated, she could fell the intensified heat. Yet, still, progress was made much slower than Valarie thought. The steel proved to be stubborn. So stubborn in fact that it took the entirely of the meeting just to cut off the mantlet that held the Six-Pounder in place. With some help of the crane, the Six-Pounder was removed and set asisde to be discarded.
"God damn, finally. Okay, step two."
Using the measurements from the booklets, Valarie used a marker to make out just how much she had to recut to turret to accept the 75mm fun.
"Valarie."
"Hmm?" Valarie hummed, not turning around.
"The meeting is over," Emma informed her. "People are aleady leaving."
"What? It's over already?"
"Yeah."
Valarie stood up and looked around the garage. She saw members leaving through the main door.
"I'm not done yet." she said.
"Well, pick it up tomorrow. Mrs. Redwood said its okay you didn't finish all in one day because the welding took longer than anyone thought."
Valarie placed her hands on her hips and just stared down at the floor for several moments.
"Go home without me," she then said. "I have to...clean up here."
"Alright, don't take long."
"Hey you never know," Valarie said in cryptic manner. "Clean one mess and another one takes it place."
"Oookay. See ya."
Emma walked off though took one glace of Valarie who was wheeling the gas canisters away. With a shrug, she left. The last remaining members of the team took their leave, with Gabrielle and Martin the only ones left in the garage.
"Good day all things considered." Marin said.
"Says you. You're the type of guy who likes doing expense reports. Geez." Gabrielle remarked with an eye roll."
"Good day in terms of productity. We were behind on some things and now we're all caught up."
"That's something I guess. Let's get home I got a craving for—"
"Something weird?"
"You know actually, I want fried chicken."
"About time you had something normal. Don't you eat for three. That's a myth, you know."
"Don't you ruin my fun."
Gabrielle flipped a switch and pressed a button on a control panel. The lights in the garage turned off and the large doors closed behind them as they went home. The garage was bathed in darkness with only the fleeting sunlight of the setting sun providing a modicum of illumination. Over at the T-44, the commander's hatch then flung open as Valarie got out of her tank. She had hidden in it waiting for everyone to leave. Taking precautions, she still waited for few more minutes to ensure that Gabrielle and Martin has truly left. Once she felt secure, she flipped on the lights and retrieved the welding tools and put back on the protection.
"As I said," she said softly to herself as she relit the torch. "I'm not done yet."
Work was resumed immediately. The Churchill's turret was recut per the specifications from the booklet, a task that took Valarie some time but she was too busy to check her phone to check its clock. With step two done, she went to where the Jumbo's old 75mm was and looked it at. At over three thousand pounds, there was no chance in hell that she could carry the thing to its new place. Enlisting the help of the ceiling-mounted crane once more, she had it move the gun to the turret and with her hand, guided it to the hole she had just cut. To her immense satisfaction, it slid right in. The crane's cables were removed and the gun was fit. Almost. The torch again was ignited and the gun was securely welded in place followed by the external mantlet for extra armor protection.
Valarie took a few steps back to admire her handiwork. The turret was ready to be remounted. She didn't waste time taking a break. The crane was put to work for one more final time where it lowered the turret back into the Churchill's hull, where it landed with an audible clang. All the bolts and other necessary parts were reinstalled and with the last twist of a heavy-duty wrench, Valarie let herself rest for a few moments inside the turret. She took a peak at the time and learned that it was almost midnight. She had been in the garage for over nine hours and been working for every minute of it. Emma by now most certainly no longer believes she is still cleaning up. But it was all worth it.
Valarie started the engine to give power to the electrics and operated the gun. The new 75mm cannon moved excellently. She let out a pleased sigh, turned off the engine and got out of the tank.
"Churchill NA 75 ready for duty. All you need now is a crew."
A yawn informed her of her exhaustion. Her eyes felt heavy, uniform dirty, the muscles in her arms and legs ached from all the physical labor. All she wanted now was to crawl into bed with a certain special someone. Hopefully she isn't too mad.
~Line Break
Valarie was not the only person staying up late. In her apartment, Heather was in bed, her eyes fixed on her computer screen. Since coming home from practice, she had been browsing on web forums, not any of those that were about tankery, but those centered around mysteries. It was the sort of subject that could have her reading about for hours on end, and talking about it for just as long. Any kind of mystery got her attention, from someone's unexplained disappearance, the sighting of some unknown creature lurking in the woods, strange lights in the sky, and so much more.
On this particular web form, Heather browsed though topics where each of its titles were nothing short of fantastical.
Men In Black: Government agents or aliens in disguise? Discuss!
Apollo 11 UFO Sightings - Genuine Photos
Have You Dreamed This Man?
Heather would've loved to jump in each and every one of those topics, but one caught her eye and its title was unusually plain compared to everything else.
Lost Vehicles
Heather had a hand on her cheek as she thought about the title. Lost vehicles can include tanks, and since she was in tankery, it would be right up her alley. She clicked on the thread and went to the most recent page. She came across a discussion among a few users, all of whom seem to be insulting another.
"Don't come here with your BS. Your story is a complete and utter fake." one user said.
"What did you expect? To us to play your little game? You're pathetic." said another.
"Fuck off." a third said, more bluntly than anyone else.
Scrolling up, Heather found the comment in question that made people mad.
"You guys want a real mystery you can actually solve? In my possession I've got the first set of clues to a lost tank hidden by my father before he passed. Message me so we can have a talk. I want to give the clue to a person I feel is right for this sorta thing."
This user hasn't responded to all the insults he received. Heather was concerned he was bullied off the site as she was interested in this mystery of his. She checked his profile on the forums and saw that he was still online. Heather quickly created an account and wrote him a private message.
"I'm intrigued by this mystery of yours. I'm a person currently in the world tankery tournament. Hopefully that makes me the right person for 'this sorta thing.'"
She hit send. The wait wasn't long as a ping from her computer alerted her to a response.
"A tankery athlete would be the right person for these purposes. If you can supply some kind of proof that you are in the sport, we can proceed."
Heather looked around her bedroom to find what would serve as good enough proof. She first considered her uniform but after some more thought realized it wasn't good enough as anyone could have a tankery uniform but not be associated with the sport at all. Her eyes went to her nightstand where her wallet was. She opened it and dug out her special driver's license that allowed her to drive the T-44. She snapped a photo of it and sent it to the person. A few minutes later, a response.
"Okay Heather. We can proceed."
Seeing her name on the message spooked her, but she then realized that she neglected to blur out her name on her license.
"Damn."
Her worries about this slip in privacy were gone when another message came through.
"Since you gave your name, so shall I. My name is Elias Viklund. My father before his passing has hidden a tank whose location can only be found by deciphering and following a set of clues. Attached to this message is a scan of the first clue along with more detailed instructions and a forward from my father. My contact info is listed below as not only do I want updates should you make them, but also in case you need me for something. Don't ask for help for the clues because I have no idea. I read the first one and I'm completely stumped. Good luck."
Heather was over the moon. A real, honest-to-god mystery for her to tackle. Without skipping a beat, she opened the attached file and read the title
The Adventure to End All Adventures; A Grand Hunt for a German Mechanical Gargantua
