A/N
Man, I haven't updated this story all year ;)
Happy New Year, everyone! I hope this year can be a good one for all of us
Guest Reviews!
Kunochi69: That Russian instructor that has been mentioned will be explored further down the line. I got a lot of plans for her. She'll be an interesting character without a doubt!
TankNut: Valarie's new book will be something she'll read cover to cover. We'll see what she gets out of it. Also...that Blackbird. Oh yeah, it's gonna be fun
Turbodriver07: Understanding the Nishizumi style is what Valarie wants to understand as she is only familiar with Miho's style of tankery as she had studied her extensively. It'll be interesting to compare and contrast the Nishizumi style to how Mojave Rose operates
And now, without further ado...
Introducing - The Trinity Match
Sunday, September 15th 2013
Outskirts of Iquique
It was that time of the day where the moon has slinked away to another corner of the world, but the morning sun has not yet risen to provide the land with its illumination and warmth. Several kilometers away from the city of Iquique, its residents still in slumber, a large group of people situated in a plateau were wide awake, busily preparing for the big event for today.
A free-for-all tankathlon match.
Six small teams all participating in one battle, all hostile toward each other. The last team standing wins.
The Puma and AMR 35, the Manhattan Project, arrived at this staging area a little past two in the morning. An early arrival meant that the organizers and one other team were the only people there. The Manhattan Project were directed to a parking space, which was really just a canopy tent over a patch of arid dirt. With hours to go until the start of the match, the group slept in their vehicles to get their energy where it needed to be.
Sometime later, Aurora awoke to the alarm she had set on her phone. She rubbed her eyes as she checked the time.
7:00 A.M.
"Ah, good." Aurora said quietly to herself.
The sound of her alarm had also the rest of her crew awake. All three girls got out of the armored car to stretch and to breath in the crisp morning air that was like coffee to them. Aurora took notice of her surroundings and saw that the staging area has changed since they had first arrived.
The most obvious was that more canopy tents have been pitched up, each with a pair of tanks parked underneath with their crews tending to them, save for one tent where only a solitary tank was parked, its crew absent. All of them would be participating in the imminent match.
An additional tent was where the organizers set up shop. Two rows of tables filled with radios and monitoring equipment crucial for match operations. Here, half a dozen organizers were stationed, all young women, none older than eighteen. The uniforms they wore composed of black flannel shirts, gray pants, and brown leather boots that went up to the knee. Tied around all their necks were bright red handkerchiefs.
One of the organizers took note of Aurora and the outfit she was wearing; the camouflaged rain poncho and black coverings on her face and hands. The organizer who it was Aurora and the same could be said about herself as she was the one who registered the group in the first place. The organizer headed right for her.
"Looks like you've taken my advice on donning disguises." the organizer said with a small smile.
"We did," Aurora said, smiling in kind. "For the boy's sake."
"A wise move as there are a handful of girls here who have a...let's say less than approving opinion on male participation." the organizer brought her voice down to a whisper.
"If those girls want to start something, they'll not only have to go through his sister, by my crew and I as well. He's a good kid and quite sharp."
"Sounds to me he actually has four sisters."
Aurora blushed slightly as she stifled a smile. "Well...I guess so."
"So, how do you view your odds?"
"Good. They'll be better once we know for sure the Puma can be cleared for play," Aurora said. She briefly turned away to glance at the other tanks in the area, watching the crews that operated them. They were working. Some were, anyway. Others were lounging and one tank had no crew site. Most likely they were still asleep within. "Can you tell me anything about the competition?"
"Half the teams here are locals. The rest are gringos."
Aurora smirked. "Well, we're one of the gringos. Who are the others?"
"I'm not allowed to share. We don't document the nationalities of the foreign teams present, just the name they go by. For example, in our documents, we only refer to you as 'Manhattan Project'. The word 'American' is totally absent.
"Geez. This Syndicate goes above and beyond when it comes to being secretive."
"Thank you."
Aurora again looked at the tent with only one tank parked underneath. "Are you allowed to share anything about them? Why does that team only have one tank when everyone else has two?"
"We encouraged them to field another tank but they refused. Who knows why. The reason could very well be mundane. It's their choice anyway, one-tank tankathlon teams are not uncommon."
"Gotcha," Aurora checked the time. "Almost time to start, yeah?"
"Oh yes," answered the organizer. "But first, we'll need to weigh that armored car of yours to determine if its under the ten ton requirement."
"Copy that."
Aurora returned to the Puma finding her crew to be performing last minute preparations. Before tending to that, she first went to the AMR and opened the commander's hatch to find a sleeping Cassidy. She was shook awake.
"Huh? Wha-oh, right." Cassidy said with a yawn.
"Almost go-time."
Cassidy clambered out of her machine and stretched. "Oooh, I've definitely slept in better places."
"Metal makes not an idea bed. Your brother awake yet?"
"Nope."
"Wake him, please. We're about to weigh the Puma."
"On it."
Cassidy carefully walked toward the driver's hatch of the AMR and wit the utmost grace, quietly opened it to reveal her sleeping brother. He slept against one of the inner wall, wrapped tightly in a blanket, like a baby nestled in their crib. The sound of his soft breathing was a sound Cassidy adored. She loved him to death. Any one other than her that dares give him a hard time can expect to have their mouths well-acquainted with her aluminum bat.
She placed both her hands on the open hatch and with all her strength, slammed it shut, the noise it produced rivaling thunder. Nathan yelled with fright as all sense of grogginess have been utterly vanquished.
Cassidy, with a huge grin, watched as Nathan slowly opened his hatch, his eyes staring directly into her pupils.
"...Why." he asked, voice seasoned with irritation.
"'Cause I love ya. Come one out, we're gonna see the Puma get weighed."
"I want breakfast."
Cassidy sighed. "Alright...I'll find you something."
As Cassidy set out to feed her brother, the Puma crew climbed into their vehicle and were directed to a section of the staging area to be weighed. It was a large scale, the same kind used in weigh stations found along stretches of highway.
The armored car was driven onto the scale where an organizer was at a nearby computer which displayed the reported weight. As this was being performed, a crowd formed around the scale. Ever since the Puma arrived, it had generated a considerable amount of conversation among the participating teams. Some didn't think the armored car would pass the weigh-in while others were surprised to see an armored car at all as in their circles of tankery, such class of vehicles weren't used. In fact, in some countries, their tankery governing bodies have outright prohibited their use in matches. These governing bodies mandate that only tracked vehicles could be tankery-legal.
And yet, the Puma is an active participant in the world tournament and wasn't breaking any rules. What allowed Mojave Rose to operate an armored car?"
The answer; The World Tankery Congress.
Every give years, this body would convene in Paris, France, the country where the sport of tankery was born. Members composed of representatives of every tankery regulatory body in the world, with the primary purpose of establishing, reviewing, and maintaining the rules for international tankery.
Several decades ago, the issue of armored cars were brought forth and ignited fierce debate. The American Tankery Association was on the side to permit their use in international matches and quickly established themselves as the leader of the pro-car faction. The opposing faction was lead by Japan's Sensha-Do Federation. The two sides worked feverishly to sway neutral members to their cause, and in time, thanks to intense lobbying from the ATA, a majority was formed in favor of the armored cars. From that session onward, armored cars were allowed to be used by participating nations in international matches to the Sensha-Do Federation's, quote, 'Intense displeasure.'. Japan would attempt to reverse the decision but could never garner enough support and they would soon give up.
Aurora was out of her hatch as she anxiously awaited for the results. The organizer at the computer stared at the screen as the numbers fluctuated till they changed no longer. The organizer looked at Aurora, extended her arm, and gave her a thumbs up.
"Yes!" Aurora cheered. "Once again this cat has been put on a successful diet!"
The news of the Puma's newly-granted permittance to the match spread like a shockwave. The armored car drove of the scale and parked nearby, with a delight Aurora hopping out and proudly slapping its hull.
"God, I love you so much."
The organizer from earlier joined her, hands behind her back. "Congratulations. Your vehicle is allowed to fight, though now I have a new concern for you."
Aurora viewed her with narrow eyes. "And that is?"
"In the world of tankathlon, your high velocity 50mm gun is tantamount to Germany's 88 or the Soviet's 122."
"...Okay. We got a real good gun. So what? It's not like we can bounce a shot from like, ah, a King Tiger or something. We're as vulnerable as every other tank here."
The organizer took a step closer to her. "You out-range everyone else. You can outrun everyone else. You are the most dangerous game and that will attract a lot of hunters."
Aurora looked beyond the organizer to glance at the other teams. They were looking right at her, their arms either at their hips or crossed. A sense of antagonism, was felt in the air, all directed toward the Puma and the people that operated it. Aurora and her crew, her friends, have become public enemy number one.
"Hey, uh," Aurora said with some anxiety. "Remind me what are the rules for tankathlon?"
"Why, no vehicles over ten tons of course." the organizer answered with cheer.
"I know that. But is a free-for-all match. There's gotta be rules preventing people from teaming up in a free-for-all...right?"
The organizer smiled and let out a hearty chuckle. "Tankathlon only has that one, single, lone, rule. Everything else is governed by beautiful, beautiful anarchy."
With a bow, the organizer made her leave. The glares from the other match participants were maintained on Aurora, even after she scrambled back in her armored car and drove back to their original parking spot. There, Cassidy and Nathan were sat upon the AMR with Nathan peeling and eating a mango with a box of peach nectar by his side.
"Went and got breakfast, hmm?" Aurora queried.
"He was hungry," Cassidy said as she gestured toward her brother, who shrugged. "So, weigh-in went good?"
"Yes...," Aurora slowly answered. "But I think there will be a problem."
"Oh great," Cassidy groaned. "I knew things were going too well for us. Something bad just had to happen."
"I said I think there will be a problem so it might not happen at all. But, there is a non-zero chance that this free-for-all match could turn into a everyone-against-the-Puma match."
"...Awesome."
"They can go just go pound sand for all I care," Riley interjected. "Wanna know how I see it all? Jealousy. Jealous that they don't have anything close to match our speed and firepower."
"Yeah!" Avery agreed. "It actually suits us. We find a good position on a hill or something and let them come to us. We'll gun them down as they draw near."
"I suppose the whole situation can be turned to our favor," Aurora wondered. "Though we'll be cautious about all of this. That's what Valarie would do."
"I do wonder how she would go about this match," Cassidy pondered. "If she didn't have that opinion of tankathlon, I bet she'd love all this."
"Maybe. Her disapproval for this sport is for the protection of the team. I like the girl, I really do, but she's totally wrong in this case. Every fiber in my body tells me this is the right thing to do."
A horn was then heard that startled the group. It was initially assumed that it was the signal to kick off the match, but when it was noticed that people were congregating at a stage that was in the center of the area, the Manhattan Project went off to join the crowd.
One the stage as all the organizers, with one of them holding a megaphone. The girl switched it on and brought it to her mouth to address the match combatants.
"The Chilean Tankathlon Syndicate welcomes you all to today's match. We are pleased to see quite a number of teams taking part in the imminent event. Tankathlon. A sport so unfairly by those with empty heads. Now! The match that is upon us is for fun! This is not the start of some tournament. That being said, there is a prize for the winner. Lourdes, if you please."
The organizer named Lourdes stepped forward to present a large wicker basket filled with Chilean treats, local candy and drinks, which rested upon a vestido de huasa, a huasa dress. A well-crafted piece of clothing made of fine silk which was characterized by a tight waist and wide skirt that went blow the knees. It was white with a floral pattern, the stitched on plants being Chile's national flower, the Chilean bellflower. A bright red sash that was tied around the waist was the cherry on top.
The dress was what people wanted as it would be perfect for dates, night outs, formal events, or just simply showing off. Though there was something in that basket that too generated feelings of desire. Cash money in the form of several clips of the Chilean Peso currency.
"Since we have some foreigners among us," the organizer continued. "Would any of them like to contribute to the prize basket with their own currency? Think of it like betting on yourself."
A few girls from the crowd walked on the stage to deposit some cash. Cassidy was among them, with her withdrawing a bill from her pocket and placed it in the basket.
"How much did you give?" Aurora asked when Cassidy returned.
"Fifty bucks."
"Fi...fifty bucks? I only saw you give one bill. You brought a fifty dollar bill?"
"Got the cash by doing someone else's laundry and I kept it with me just in case. I'm betting fifty on your 50mm gun. I'll see that money tucked safely in my pocket before the day's up."
"And I'll be heading back to the ship wearing that gorgeous dress."
There was nothing green where they were. Just the dull brown of the sand and dust that coated the surface and went on for hundreds of kilometers on end. The last time it rain was a year ago, but looking at the ground would never give off that impression. Instead, it looked like this corner of the world has never received a single drop of rain since the planet has been born all those billions of years ago. The Atacama Desert was a arid place. It was the arid place. The driest non-polar desert in the world.
It was here, several kilometers away from the city if Iquique, that the tankathlon match was to occur. On a hill, engines warm and guns at the ready, was the Manhattan Project. The Puma and AMR were parked side by side as they waited for the organizers to announce the start of the match over the radio. The two commanders, Aurora and Cassidy, were out of their hatches, gazing out toward the Chilean wilderness, the gusts of wind hitting their ponchos, flapping like flags.
Though the sun was up and bright, it was cold. Not frigid, but chilly enough to make the group thankful that they bundled up even if the clothes weren't for the weather, but rather to hide their identities. To further contribute to that, the crews have also obscured their painted callsigns on the side of their turrets with sections of spare track firmly mounted over them.
"This brings me back." Aurora remarked with a pleased sigh.
"What? What does this remind you of?" questioned Cassidy.
"Oooh, that's right. You joined the team much later. Missed all of the nationals. Where we are reminds me of when the team did practice back home, out in the Mojave. Oh man, was it good. Our area was nice and wide, perfect for doing pretty much any kind of training, and for us, ideal for just going fast," Aurora shuddered at a gust at wind. "Not to mention much warmer."
"I sure did hear you guys when you did your practices," Cassidy said. "Everyone in town did. All the thuds of your guy's guns made Saturdays cool."
The radio within the AMR came alive.
"¡Vamos!"
Cassidy and Aurora looked at each other and smiled.
"So. Whose gonna say it?" Cassidy questioned.
Aurora hummed in thought. "Why not together at the same time?"
"Lets."
Each girl took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. An excitement grew inside of both of them as this exact moment was something they have been looking forward too. A short phrase that they've heard many times before, but never out of their own mouths. Now, in this moment, they had their time in the sun, one they will savor. With proud and loud voices, both girls exclaimed,
"Panzer vor!"
The Puma and AMR simultaneously accelerated forward. Both machines barreled down the hill, kicking up dust in their wake, reached the bottom and began following a path between hills that lead them east. Prior to the start of the match, all participating teams were given maps of the area of engagement. The Manhattan Project studied them, primarily Cassidy and Aurora as they established themselves as the group's leaders. It quickly became consensus that their best course of action was to directly head to a larger, taller, flatter, hill five kilometers away. Aurora's worry that the other teams in the match would join together in some kind of anti-armored car alliance necessitated a defensive approach. Their destination would give them a commanding view of their surroundings and would render all attempts of an ambush improbable.
But the drive there made them feel vulnerable. While there was no vegetation for enemy tanks to conceal themselves in, the path the Manhattan Project drove on was flanked by hills which fed the fear of an enemy tank driving over the tops and shooting down below. Perhaps not a reasonable thing to expect to happen scarcely a minute into in the match, but it was better to be safe than sorry, and so, the two tanks abused their throttles and tore up the ground. The Puma was the fastest of the two by far, but Aurora ordered that the armored car keep pace with the AMR as if the Puma used its horsepower to its maximum, it would leave the little French tank in the dust, and none of them wanted to be separated at all. Such a thing would only invite disaster.
The five kilometer distance was accomplished in short time and soon, the Manhattan Project positioned themselves at the highest points. Each tank looked in the opposite directions, the commanders out of their hatches and binoculars pressed against their eyes. The engines were turned off and when the ticks from the cooling metal finally subsided, a silence came in its place. Other than the off gust of cold wind, they heard nothing. Half an hour in their spot and not a sound.
That troubled them.
"No distant cracks of guns," Aurora remarked as she scanned the far off terrain in her direction. "You'd think by now people would've run into each other and start shooting."
"It's freaky, man," Cassidy said. She tapped her fingers on the roof of the AMR's turret. "I know this is our first tankathlon match, but they can't be quiet for this long, can they?"
Wanting another set of eyes, Aurora knocked on the top of her turret. A moment later, Avery popped out. The short black-haired girl, with her binoculars, started scanning. Cassidy couldn't help but let out a little laugh.
"Must be nice having a dedicated gunner."
"I do the loading too." Avery responded.
"Still better off than me. Shooting, loading, radio operating, commanding. All jobs I gotta do. Man, the division of labor sucks."
"Do you want advice or you just wanna vent?"
"You know what? I do want to vent!"
As Cassidy went on her rant about her abundance of responsibility, Nathan had his hatch opened and helped out in the spotting. He had no binoculars of his own but he gave it his best try, squinting at distant hills to focus his vision. As he went from hill to hill, he did a double take when he thought he saw a shape come into view but when he looked again, was gone. He was about to dismiss this as a trick of the eye when he saw the shape again. He leaned forward and squinted harder, where then, he saw another. Then three.
Then four.
"There!" he yelled out, grabbing all of their attention. "At my, uhh, eleven o'clock!"
The girls out of their hatches immediately turned to the direction he pointed out and all trained their binoculars on the shapes he spotted. They were moving together as a unit right toward them.
"God damn it," Aurora muttered. "Two teams have partnered up."
Closing the distance was two M22 Locusts and two Tetrarchs, speeding across the desert. The Puma and AMR turned on their engines and turned their fronts toward the approaching enemy. The Puma's gun trained on one of the enemy tanks and let loose a shell, the first shot of the day, with it flying past a Locust and exploding the ground behind it. During the reload the Tetrarchs began to open fire which surprised Aurora as she didn't think the light tanks were in range to do so. Their shots, inaccurate, landed haphazardly around the Manhattan Project's position. They continued to fire and Aurora noticed that there was something 'off' when the Tetrarch's 40mm gun fired. The crack of the guns far too sharp for a weapon of that caliber. The reason why was a device called a Littlejohn adaptor.
Fitted at the ends of the barrel, this adaptor converted the Tetrach's 40mm into squeeze-bore operations. Firing special ammunition, whenever a Tetrarch would fire, the round would travel the first part of the barrel as normal but as it reached the adaptor, the smaller space would squeeze the soft, malleable round that increased its velocity to over eleven hundred meters a second when it blasted out of the barrel.
The Puma fired another shot, it coming close to hitting a Tetrarch and showered the little machine with clouds of dust and sand. The four tanks defiantly accelerated as they weathered fire from the Puma and now the AMR, zigzagging as they now started their climb up the hill.
"I think it's time to go now!" Cassidy exclaimed.
"Yes I think—" Explosions and a cascade of debris falling on Aurora shut her up. From a different direction, moving fast, was Type-97 Te-Ke tanks. "Oh. Shit. Let's go. GoGoGoGO!"
The Puma reversed fast and raced down the side of the hill away from everyone else, with the AMR quickly following in tow, with the pair speeding to a wide open valley. Behind them, six enemy tanks, three different teams, functioned as one and all pursued the Americans. Six guns delivered volley after volley of fire, turning the valley ground more akin to the surface of the moon. They also opened up with their coaxial machine guns, the air filled with a chaotic symphony of both small and big instruments of war. The coaxial gun was more a threat to the Puma as they had wheels instead of tracks. Their wheels were tough, but enough damage would cause them to be punctured and air to bleed out with a depressing hiss. The armored car preformed serpentine maneuvers to avoid incoming fire, its tires screeching as it did, to the best of their ability. The stray machine gun round would hit their hull but merely shatter upon impact. Still, the sound of the impacts was unnerving.
The AMR had it relatively easy. Only the Type 97s were targeting them, and though they returned fire, shooting on the move only guaranteed inaccurate shots that gave the faint hope they'd hit their mark only to deviate away and sail past them.
"Six tanks, three teams, all united against us!" Aurora exclaimed over the radio in disbelief. "So much for a free-for-all!"
"So what's the game plan?" Cassidy asked. "We gotta do something fast before the rest of the tanks out there decides to join them."
"Let me think," Aurora said. She turned her attention to her front and saw the end of the valley fast approaching. Dead ahead was a forked path. A plan formed then and there. "That forked path. You go right, I go left. Split them up!"
"Gotcha!"
When the time came, while still dodging incoming shells, the Puma and AMR darted into their respective paths. Their hunters split as well, with four following the Puma and the remaining two, the Type 97s, on the AMR.
The paths were narrow and twisty, the drivers of every tank in the action soon ached from the constant turning and the shifting of gears. The Puma had its turret turned to face its rear and when an enemy tank appeared, the armored car fired but the bumpiness of the terrain and the frequent turns made landing an accurate shot near impossible. The Puma's turret was too small to have powered traversed so it had to be hand cranked. The vehicle wasn't designed for this type of combat at all, but regardless, Avery at the gun sights persevered and did her damnedest to knock out one of their pursuers. Her determination, and a healthy dosage of luck, soon got results. A Locust had inadvertently drove squarely into her crosshairs. With a pull of the trigger, a round flew from the barrel to the Locusts' right to the center of the small tank's front hull. With a bright flash, it sputtered to a stop, white flag popping out of its turret. The immobilized Locust also served as a roadblock as the tanks behind it broke hard to avoid a collision and started the slow process of getting around it. Time to allow the Puma to gain separation.
"One down!" Aurora cheered. Though her jubilation quickly faded away. "Way more to go."
On the other path, the AMR crew were feeling the heat rising and fast. The Type-97s were unleashing unrelenting fire and only by the grace of god did the AMR manage avoid being knock out. But it was stressful. Very stressful. Cassidy would line up a shot, fire, and miss. When she had to look away from the gun sight to load another round, she had to reaim the gun. The minuscule amount of time she looked away was incredibly tense as during this period could an enemy tank maneuver around without her knowing, so Cassidy moved fast when reloading. To shave off seconds, she had several 25mm rounds tucked between her thighs so she could just grab one to thrust into the breech. She took a risk to get on the radio. She needed help.
"Mirage! Can you help us out here?!" Cassidy shouted, her agitation clear.
"Yeah," Aurora reported back. She reviewed the map again. It showed that the two separate paths both ended in the same place, another valley. "Keep driving. The path leads into a valley, we'll help you there."
"Got it, got it!"
"Turn the turret ninety degrees to the right." Aurora ordered.
"Turning!" Avery obediently responded.
The Puma sped up to the end of the path and came to a stop. Moments later, the AMR bolted out and kept driving madly. Avery took a breath laid her finger on the trigger.
"The second one," Aurora whispered. "Get them first."
Avery nodded.
Engine sounds and clattering tracks from the other path were heard. A second passed and appeared a Type 97, driving fast past them, oblivious, continuing its pursuit of the AMR. Then came its companion and the moment the Japanese light tank revealed itself, its side erupted in flame and smoke as it limped to a stopped. When the white flag popped out, the Puma then trained its gun to the remaining Type 97, who, upon now noticing the fall of its comrade, came to an abrupt stop and turned to face the armored car. But they would never beat Avery's reload. By now a reflex, another round was in the breech and before the 37mm of the Type 97 could be brought to bare, they were shut down with a shot right on its turret. One team, eliminated.
"That's what you get for teaming up in a free-for-all-match, you assholes!" Aurora shouted triumphantly from out of her hatch. She wore a smug smile on her face.
The Type 97 closest to her had its hatch open and out popped out a Chilean girl who wasn't particularly happy. At all. "¡Tu coche blindado puede irse directo al infierno, pálido hijo de puta!"
The girl had the meanest scowl. Aurora couldn't resist pouring gasoline on the fire. She didn't know any spanish, but did know a hand gesture whose meaning was universal. It was proudly presented to the girl, whose fury only grew. She charged at the Puma but the car sped away before she got anywhere close. Aurora waved at her as she became a dot in the distance.
The Puma drove fast to catch up to the AMR, who now, has driven far out of sight. A minute later, she spotted two tanks lying still up ahead, smoke coming from each of them. The Puma crew were wary and as they approached slowed, their gun at the ready to punish any sudden movements but when the white flags were clearly seen, they relaxed. The knocked out tanks were a pair of Swedish Landsverk L-60 tanks, sporting 20mm autocannons.
The Puma drove past them, and what was when Aurora spotted the AMR who was using one of the immobilized L-60s as cover, it's small size completing shielding them.
"Oh! There you are!" Aurora said.
"Yo!" Cassidy responded. "Nice little hiding spot, eh?"
"Yeah! Wow, you kicked their asses."
Cassidy looked puzzled. "Uh. We didn't take them out. We found them like this."
"...Really?" Aurora remarked with surprise. "I guess not everyone partnered up."
A girl then appeared from one of the L-60s. Her uniform covered with filth, her hair a mess and dirty with sweat. She looked awful and if her breathing was any indication, was still rattled over what had happened to her and her team.
"Quando você ouve música," the girl said in between labored breaths. "Orar."
"What she's saying?" Aurora wondered.
"Cassidy knows, she speaks Spanish." Nathan said.
"I'm not fluent!" Cassidy said to him. "And besides, she's not speaking Spanish. It's something else...Portuguese I think. All I can understand is 'music'."
"Who the hell is jamming out, out here?" Aurora remarked.
"Dunno," Cassidy shrugged. "But hey, they're doing our work for us. Less tanks to deal with. These two, plus the other two you took out makes four."
"And we brought one down back in that path, bringing the total five."
"I spot the other three," Avery said. She had her binoculars trained on the horizon and saw three tanks fast approaching. Then shifted her gaze to the L-60s. "Wonder where the tank that took these guys out went."
"We'll have to worry about that later," Aurora said. "We gotta get a move on. I looked ahead on the map and know a good spot to do a sneaky ambush."
The pair sped off just as the ground around them was peppered with shot. The Manhattan Project followed the route Aurora laid out, around a small mountain to cut the enemy's line of sight of them. Free from prying eyes, the two tanks ducked into a large depression in the ground and turned themselves around right quick. Both vehicles were in a hull down position, their guns loaded and trained at the direction that they had just came from. Waiting.
A short wait, as it turns out.
It wasn't long before the sound of furious engines was heard, echoing and whining throughout the land like the bugle call of a calvary charge. The Manhattan Project stood firm and prepared to blunt whatever was coming their way. But, before what seemed like the moment of climax, another engine was then heard joining the fray. It was immediately followed by the crack of a gun going off, a few short seconds later, another was heard, then a third. After that, there was nothing to be heard other than a fading engine that decayed to silence.
The Manhattan Project remained where they were, now unsure what to make of the situation. They were fully prepared to face three tanks to barrel around the corner but none came. The possibility it was some kind of trick was present in all their minds, along with the question of whether or not to move from their position or stay put. Cassidy sent a glance toward Aurora who shrugged. She pondered for a moment, looking around as she did. At the barren landscape that surrounded her and up at the sky where clouds have never treaded. With a motion of her hand, she gave her decision.
Forward.
The Puma and AMR drove out of depression and back around the mountain. When they turned the corner, about one hundred meters away, was three tanks, two Tetrarchs and a Locust. The Locust had its gun pointed forward for it was the first one to get shot, its crews caught unaware. The last two tanks had their guns turned to their left, evidence of an attempted retaliation that was futile from the start.
"This is really freaky," Cassidy remarked. "Whoever done this was in and out like that!" she snapped her fingers. "A full on drive-by!"
"But...where'd they go?" Aurora wondered.
The commanders looked around but saw nothing.
"We keep moving," Aurora went on. "Don't think it's the best idea to stick around."
The Manhattan Project together drove away from the carnage and left it behind. The mood has undeniably changed. With all the immobilized tanks, they determined that one other team still remained on the field. For Aurora, she was convinced it was that solo team with one tank. She wished she knew what it was when she saw it earlier in the staging area. Unlike Valarie, she didn't have an encyclopedic knowledge of armored fighting vehicles spanning decades upon decades. There was a tank identification booklet that the team received way back when they were formed, but that piece of literature was among the things taken out when the Puma crew lightened their vehicle. She chastised herself as a booklet that weighed mere ounces was nothing compared to the weight to an armored car.
They drove for several minute in a northern direction. A glance upward saw the sun in the middle of the sky, telling them all it was around noon. It's supposed to be the warmest time of day but the winds wiped away any shred of warmth, enough to make them shudder.
Several kilometers have been put between them and the wrecked tanks, though Aurora could never shake off this feeling of paranoia that existed within her that only grew stronger. She looked toward the tops of nearby hills, fully expecting a silhouette to appear followed by a flash but her eyes saw nothing. But she could feel it in her heart that the last remaining enemy tank was out there, lurking, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike.
She would soon come to learn that her suspicion was dead on.
On one of the hills that looked identical to the last, the Manhattan Project was being watched through a pair of binoculars, going in the direction away from the observer. Their tank parked in just the right way that it could not be seen, but the commander out of the hatch could just barely see over the top of the hill they were perched on. A hawk eyeing its next meal.
The last remaining tank was a BT-2 with a dull winter camouflage. A tank that was the epitome of horsepower as it can reach the incredible speed of one hundred kilometers per hour, faster than the Puma. It was armed with a 37mm cannon, one that has done a lot of damage so far in the match.
The commander maintained her eyes on the Americans, her presence, undetected.
"You see them?" asked her gunner.
"I do." came the response, slow and measured.
"So? Let's get them!" exclaimed the BT's driver. "This tank was never made to sit still for this long!"
"When a bird takes flight, they do so against the wind." the commander said. Her crew sighed, but her words was expected. She ways always the cryptic type.
The winds outside then changed, now hitting the BT-2. No longer gusts, they were now sustained. The commander, like the rest of her crew, was wearing a white ski mask with the only slits for their eyes to look out. In addition to that, she wore a hat that looked like she cut off one half of a white-and-blue beach ball. Nested on her lap was her prized possession. Something that is always a part of her person.
A kantele.
She plucked a string producing a musical note that also functioned as an order. The BT-2 soared over the hill and barreled down toward the Manhattan Project. The sudden attack was immediately noticed.
"There they are!" Cassidy exclaimed. "Behind! Behind!"
The Puma and AMR picked up speed and rapidly turned around to face their new quarry. Both machines opened fire but the BT turned sharply to avoid the incoming shells. The Soviet light tank accelerated to speeds no one of the Manhattan Project has ever see a tank reach before. All tanks involved were now racing toward each other, the distance rapidly closed, charging at each other like dueling goats. Though just barely did they miss locking horns. The tanks passed by each other were mere feet separating them, and at their closest approached, did a shot ring out.
"Who fired? Who fired?" Aurora scrambled for answers. "Was it you?"
"No, I couldn't get the gun down far enough." Avery explained.
Aurora peaked out out to examine her the top of her turret. No white flag. She breathed a sigh of relief, then turned toward the AMR, who also did not wave the white flag. Then, she turned toward the BT. It also did not have a white flag, but it did came to a stop. One of its tracks have snapped and fell off the roadwheels.
"That was me!" Cassidy shouted over the radio. "I got their freaking tracks!"
"Nice!" Aurora congratulated. "They're not going anywhere now."
"And just for good measure," Cassidy aimed and fired on the other set of the BT's tracks, snapping them. When they fell to the ground, the BT-2 was now trackless. "That's some salt in the wound right there."
The two machines now trained their guns on the BT, now technically no longer a tank. The Puma aimed at the rear of the turret while the AMR had their sights on the engine. They were prepared to deliver volley that would struck the BT simultaneously to cause the most damage. But, they made a mistake. More importantly, they've made an assumption. For Aurora, she should've known better as she has been with the team since the very beginning. She should have know, with all her experience, to never had made an assumption.
Yet, she did.
The vulnerability of the BT was nothing more than a facade.
With a sudden lurch, the light tank moved forward and accelerated to great speed. The Manhattan Project were utterly baffled.
"Wha—How?!" Aurora shouted. "How can a tank drive without tracks?! I...I thought that wasn't possible...God, I need to learn more about tanks."
The BT's stunt caused them to falter, to hesitate. When the Manhattan Project regained their focus, they reranged their guns on the BT and fired. The Soviet tank at that moment spun around slammed on the brakes and spun around, the hostile rounds sailing above them. Now pointed in the right direction, the BT-2 bolted right for them. Its engine wailed at the strain it was put under, its roadwheels coated with the desert dust, a round ready in the breech.
The Puma and AMR fired another volley of fire but, again, as if they could sense the pull of the triggers, the BT turned sharply to the left. The time it took to reload was just a few seconds. A few seconds they did not have. The BT raced by the AMR and as they did, slammed a shot into the side of its turret. The little French tank moved no more.
The match has now become a one-on-one. A situation that Aurora has experienced before. She was not against a King Tiger, but this BT crew fought with a ferocity that equaled such a dangerous machine. There was no pool of water for her armored car to hydroplane and crash into a building to get stuck on.
No IS-3 to arrive at the last second.
The BT-2 did another spin to turn around and found itself behind the Puma. The armored car could not turn in place as it lacked tracks, so it had to move forward to initiate a turn. As it did, its turret rotated in a bid to bring its gun to on target. Not everyone who bids wins.
With the simple motion of one's finger, the side armor of the Puma flashed with fire and smoke. Its wheels slowed to a stop and from the turret, raised the white flag. Aurora, stunned and dazed, got out of her hatch and latched eyes on the BT, now speeding away in victory. What grew faint with the distance was a sound Aurora would never forget. The sound of an instrument's string being pluck. A musical melody that ushered in something they had never experienced before.
Defeat.
It was kinda awkward when they returned. When the recovery vehicles hauled the Puma and AMR back to the staging area, they were met with jeers and other ridicule. All was directed at the Puma crew as the people there were glad that the armored car got shot. When Aurora spotted the girl she sparred with earlier, she instantly averted her gaze. She didn't want to see the look on her face. She was embarrassed, incredibly so. Good thing she was wearing a disguise as it hid her shame quite well.
The Manhattan Project had their vehicles dropped off in the parking space they had earlier in the day. The crews merely sat on their immobilized tanks, dejected. Being knocked out presented them with a problem they dreaded.
"What do we do?" Cassidy asked Aurora. "We can't go back to the ship with shot-up tanks."
"I...I don't know," Aurora admitted. She felt ill. "I don't know what to do."
Then, from behind was the sound of the squeaks of small wheels. The group turned and saw the organizer that signed them up arrive with toolbox.
"Repair is something you all can do," the organizer told them. "The Syndicate offers the means to do so free of charge."
The Manhattan Project started to feel better already. They hopped off their vehicles and got right to work.
"Thank you." Aurora said.
"No need to thank," the organizer replied. "It's just a service we provide. Congratulations on your performance."
"What do you mean, congrats?" Aurora said, almost taking offense. "We lost."
"This is your first tankathlon match, yes?"
"It is."
"Defeat will always leave a taste like ash in your mouth, but you must always look in the positives. You all done well considering the odds with nearly every tank in the field uniting against you. And, you reached second place in the free-for-all match. Now, there isn't a prize for second place, but, I hope you can find some comfort in this. In the end, you did have fun? Right?"
"Yeah..." Aurora remarked after some thought. She slowly began to nod. "We had fun."
"That's the important part. It's something most people forget that it's not the winning that's the all-important thing. You got to have fun with it too. Not just in tankathlon, but also in tankery as a whole. In my mind, if you're having fun, then you can never really lose."
Aurora soaked in what was being said to her. Though she figured that the organizer was about the same age as her, she was wiser than she looked. Her words provided the best kind of comfort like a mother would give.
"I'll remember that," Aurora said. "Hey, uh, I never got your name. Unless, of course, you're secretive about that too."
"Florencia," the organizer said. "That's my name."
"Mine's Aurora."
"Well, Aurora," Florencia said with a grin. "The little prize ceremony is about to begin soon. Care to join?"
Aurora chuckled. "Considering that I most certainly made a few enemies in the crowd, I think it'd be best to pass on that. Besides, we got repairs to do."
"Understandable. I'll go fetch you guys some fuel for the drive back home. Normally, we charge for that but I'll cover that for you."
"Really? That's cool! But, why?"
"Because you're in the internationals."
Aurora leaned against her car. "There's gotta be more to it."
"You represent us, Aurora."
"...What?"
"1975 was not just the year your country last one the tournament. It was the last time any country from North or South America won. Since then, it has been dominated by the Old World. Chile got knocked out of the internationals last month, and the amount of countries from the New World still in the running is dwindling. It won't be long before the United States is the lone country from the New World to still be in contention. At that point, you wont be representing just your country, but two entire continents."
Aurora felt chills run deep down her spine. "Thanks. Never felt like I have a million pounds of pressure before. Man, I hate it."
"Take what you feel and multiply that by a billion. That is what the captain of your team feels. Shouldering all that pressure as she is the one to make all the decisions."
"My captain is different than me. Different than everyone else on the team. For me, tankery is just a sport. I like it. I respect it. But it's simply a thing I do. For Valarie...this sport is her life. It's like she was put on this Earth to do that and only that. I can't think of a more perfect person for the job."
"I agree with you that your captain is strong," Florencia said. Her hands were brought together. "But still, keep watch over her. For even a diamond will shatter when it suffers enough pressure."
It was thirty minutes to midnight when the Manhattan Project returned to the ship. They had to wait until it was night again the maximize their chances of not being seen by anyone on the team. As tomorrow was school, their chances of success increased as people would certainly have gone to sleep by now. The Puma and AMR drove on the same streets they took to leave the ship nearly twenty four hours earlier. They were exhausted, but not entirely disappointed as Florencia's words still rang in their minds and delivered warm comfort. At the end of the, what made Aurora want to do tankathlon in the was to keep her skills sharp, to continue to build that experience. Even in defeat can a lesson be found to learn. Failure shouldn't be disregarded and forgotten, but remembered and studied. For how else can one improve if they don't know what to improve.
The Manhattan Project arrived at the garage and well glad to see it completely dark, without a light to be seen inside. Aurora hopped out of her car and with her lockpick, entered into the garage through a side door. A few moments later, the large doors were opened and the vehicles drove inside and parked. They took great care to park exactly like they did before they left for the match.
Once their parking job was satisfactory enough, they took off the ponchos that they were still wearing and stored them back in their proper place. With that done, the Manhattan Project left the garage and locked it up. Outside, they removed their helmets and balaclavas. All of their hair was a mess.
"What a day, huh?" Aurora said with a small laugh.
"Yeah," Cassidy said. "It's been a day."
"I liked it," Nathan. "But I'm real tired. I wanna go to bed."
"Oh yes, I gotta tuck you in and read you your bedtime story. What will it be this time? Curious George? Berenstain Bears?"
"How about your diary?" Nathan said with a growing smile.
Cassidy face flashed with alarm but composed herself. "I...I don't have a diary."
"Is that right? Is that book you have about logging MLB player stats not just a ruse to actually write your thoughts? How about I share with everyone here with an entry where you talked all about Ray?"
Cassidy scowled at him. "If you know what's good for you, you will shut up."
"Make me."
His sister clenched her fists and charged at him. All the joy on his face utterly vanished as he entered into a sprint back to the apartment complex, all the while repeatedly saying 'sorry'. The Puma crew watched with amusement as they disappeared from view.
"Well, I don't think those two will be sleeping anytime soon." Avery joked.
"No...but we should. We really do," Aurora said. "I don't wanna be in class and be half-asleep."
"And for the meeting tomorrow, we gotta put everything back in the Puma." Riley said.
"It's already tomorrow," Aurora said as she checked her phone. It had just struck midnight. "Let's get outta here. I got a warm bed waiting for me."
At last, the Puma crew walked away from the garage and headed home. Their first tankathlon match now behind them. Though bringing home a victory, albeit one they wouldn't been able to share, would've been ideal, none of them would say that the day has been a waste. They had fun. It was impossible not to when shooting and explosions are involved.
Aurora was satisfied with the day, that she now accepted. Happy that she has done it. As she slipped out of her uniform and crawled under the covers of her bed, she let out a sharp exhale as slumber began to take over. Before she succumbed fully to exhaustion, her mind replayed a snippet from the match. The music that she heard from a true instrument that contributed to the symphony of battle.
It was a beautiful song.
