Hello, it's Salo here! So, if you're here for the first time, thank you for deciding to read my fic! I hope you guys will enjoy it!
Now, some of you may have realized that this fic looks familiar, and that's because this is a republish/reboot, with the original copy still present on the site, preserved as it is. So, why did I decide to do this? Well, as I continued to grow as an author and improve on various stuff, the earlier chapters of the fic seemed increasingly out of place, now feeling too crude for comfort to me. Therefore, after careful consideration I've decided a rewrite is in order. Though, as the newer chapters in the original Ace (think Chapter 4 and beyond) are still up to standard, being, well, newer, many aspects of them will be readjusted and carried over here, and in general the newer the chapter the less drastic the changes in them will be, if any.
Anyway, with that out of the way, let's get started! Disclaimer: I do not own Girls und Panzer and anyone/anything from the series and franchise. This work is done solely under my personal, non-profiting interests. Enjoy!
Prologue
August 24, 1944
Somewhere in France
The war against Germany had turned its tide. The June 6 landings at Normandy had proved to be a massive success, and the Allies were now pushing hard towards Berlin, showing no sign of slowing down.
But despite the situation at hand and the overcast sky, the French countryside was peaceful. Well, almost peaceful. What betrayed the natural peace and quiet were the manmade rumble of engines and clattering of tracks.
A cold wind blew around the platoon of five tanks traversing across the area, their metal hulls keeping their crews snug and warm inside, shielding them from the potential torrent of rain the dark clouds looming above them threatened to unleash soon. Lightning flashed a good distance away and the soft clap of thunder followed a good few seconds later.
A heavy storm was approaching.
But a little rain wouldn't stop the Germans.
Neither would it stop Josh.
A young man, Joshua Benjamin Tuckerman was promoted to his current position as tank commander only about a month ago. But judging him by the duration of his service would be a grave mistake; he had been around since the Normandy landings, then as the gunner of an M4(75), fighting his way at the beaches, then beyond as the Allied forces pushed their way deeper into and through France. This exemplary performance did not go unnoticed, and in July he was promoted and assigned his very own M4, the one he was in right now. Even during this single month as the commander he, his crew and his tank had been through very intense action, fighting and staying very much alive so far.
Sticking out of the commander's hatch despite the weather, Tuckerman observed his surroundings, keeping an eye out for potential enemies.
Finding none, he set his gaze onto the tank ahead of his.
Wolf. An M4A1(75), this was the command tank of the platoon. Seeing her very first action during the Normandy landings, this tank had garnered quite a reputation for herself and her crew, having proven herself as a potent tank, fighting up the beach and pushing into French soil. Her commander, having been around with his dirty, scarred tank before she even backed into the landing craft bound for France, was a smart man and a brilliant squad leader that was respected by all, just like the leader of a pack of wolves. This man was the reason why Wolf had always been the lead tank of her platoon, even as the other tanks under her left and were replaced. Some said that her commander was offered a chance to switch to another M4, possibly one with a 76 mm M1 gun, but he had turned down that offer, opting to stay with the tank he had fought through hell with for all these months.
Having enough of looking at the platoon leader, Tuckerman turned around to look at an unusual member of the platoon: a Sherman VC Firefly, painted in the typical shade of olive drab with a fake muzzle brake mounted at the center of the barrel, and everything ahead of that camouflaged. Of course, this British variant of the M4 was crewed by four Britons, and her name was Pluck. You might wonder why anyone would name a tank after the action of plucking something, and the answer's that she's not; the definition of "pluck" also means spirited and determined courage, and that was what this Firefly was named after. Indeed, the four good chaps crewing her had a solid grasp on the English Language.
As the platoon turned under the lead of Wolf, the two tanks behind Pluck were now visible for Joshua to observe. The first one was an M4A1(76)W named Peaches and the second one was an M4A3(75) named Snowball, both painted in camouflage. Tuckerman still had no idea what their crews were going for when they gave their tanks their names, and perhaps he might be thinking a bit too much about it; they could've merely found it amusing to give them those names.
And, as he grew bored and turned to face forward again, of course, there was his tank, by far the most unique of the platoon. An M4A3(76)W HVSS, otherwise known as the M4A3E8, going by the name of Ace of Spades, a black spade painted on the top-right side of the front armour plate relative to the tank herself. Well, Ace in short, as it was scrawled in white on the right side of her barrel. She was of a new design, the latest model of the M4 to be designed and freshly assembled at the Detroit Tank Arsenal back in the US, being almost immediately shipped over to Europe once she was complete. What set her apart from all her sisters, even the other M4A3s, was that she uses a new type of suspension: Horizontal Volute Spring Suspension, or HVSS in short, as stated in the name. Superior to the Vertical Volute Spring Suspension (VVSS) everyone else used, this otherwise-standard M4A3(76)W, using the powerful Ford GAA V8 engine, carrying the OilGear electric-powered T23 turret of 76 mm variant standard, armed with the Westinghouse gyro-stabilized 76 mm M1A2 gun itself and fitted with wet ammunition racks, had mobility and stability unparalleled by any other M4 in the field. The "Easy-Eight", as their crews and others have started to nickname them due to their ease of operation, spaciousness and ride comfort, were so far the most potent anti-tank variant of the Medium Tank M4 to grace the battlefield.
And Ace's first month of combat was evidence of the effectiveness of the Easy-Eight. Make no mistake, it wasn't easy at all, especially given the intensity of those fights, but the M4 had made it out of all nonetheless, bearing her battle scars on her hull for all to see, no matter friend or foe. But of course, this upcoming M4 variant with a knack for killing tanks would not go unnoticed by the Germans, so Josh and his crew had seen to concealing the fact that their tank was an Easy-Eight from predatory German eyes. Other than sporting the bicolor olive drab camouflage pattern chosen for her, Ace had borrowed the idea of a false muzzle and front-half-barrel camouflage from the Firefly behind in an attempt to disguise herself as a 75 mm variant. Though, even if the barrel camouflage worked, an experienced observer would be able to determine her true nature regardless, as the 75 mm M3 gun does not have a muzzle brake and no 75 mm Sherman ever used the T23 turret. But hey, every bit counts. And besides, it's not like the Germans knew what the US and by extension the Allies were coming up with; the "muzzle brake" might be part of a new variant of the aforementioned 75 mm M3. Plus, it apparently worked with the Fireflies so far.
Wolf exploded.
Josh couldn't hear anything. Even after the lead tank's turret landed right next to the burning hull and the rest of the platoon came to an abrupt stop, his ears were still ringing. But he didn't wait till his hearing got back before he began shouting commands to the other tanks whether their commanders could hear him or not, something about whether they had seen the culprit, and if they did they had permission to just open fire. He didn't pay enough attention to even hear the gunshot of an enemy tank, but as his hearing recovered and he could hear the mayhem going on around him, including the unexploded ammo of the wrecked platoon leader cooking off from the blaze, he knew that it would now target the last tank, and he wanted that to be stopped.
Alas, it was too late. Within the midst of the explosions from Wolf's ammo being cooked off, a foreign gunshot was heard. A shell went streaking across the air and found its mark on the right side of Snowball's hull, the M4A3(75) not even getting a chance to react as it fell silent.
But amidst the chaos, Josh had heard the shot and the direction it came from. Looking in that general direction, a cloud of smoke could be clearly seen a distance away.
"There he is!" he yelled into his handset as he got down and shut his hatch, now in command of the platoon. "400 meters, three o' clock! All tanks, angle 60 degrees right! Fire at will!"
He switched over to the intercom. "Butter, give me a smoke shell after this one!"
"Got it!" his loader shouted back as the tanks turned.
Ace was the first to reach her position, her 76 mm gun aimed straight at a clump of bushes, where the offending enemy target was hiding.
"I'm looking at 'em!" Archer, his gunner, yelled as the German fired once more, the crosshairs of the tank pointed straight at the target.
"Fire!"
"On the way!" the gunner shouted back in warning.
A moment later, the 76 mm M1A2 gun of the M4 opened fire with a bang, hurling the M62 AP shell out of the gun muzzle at nearly 800 meters per second. A moment later, it appeared to strike the German target and bounced off upwards, indicating that the target was armoured; definitely a tank.
Just as Butter ejected the spent ammo casing out of Ace from the turret's pistol port, the German tank fired, this time sending its shell streaking over to Peaches just as she got into position and was about to fire, the projectile penetrating straight through the gun mantlet of the M4 like a hot knife through butter. Right after that impact Pluck opened fire, having just finally gotten into position and taken aim, the iconic Firefly muzzle flash visible for all to see. The 17-Pounder APCBC did not find its mark on the enemy tank however, throwing dirt up as it impacted the ground just short of its target.
"All tanks, rattle his cage!" Tuckerman hollered into the radio. "Don't let him let up!"
Together, the coaxial machineguns of the two Allied tanks lit up, sending a constant barrage of light fire that struck the enemy tank, sparking as they bounced off harmlessly. But physical damage was not the goal; rather, it was the psychological effect of the loud, sharp, piercing and constant pings from each bullet rattling off the exterior of the enemy tank that would do the job, harassing and impeding the concentration and efficiency of the enemy crew. And it was working.
There was a secondary benefit of the light fire, too; from the sparking, Josh could make out the shape of the enemy tank.
He felt his stomach drop.
The one tank Josh was hoping wasn't the attacker.
"I see him! King Tiger!"
"Up!" the loader shouted as the breech slammed shut with a metallic hiss right after the smoke shell was shoved in.
"Lob that smoke right on that Kraut!"
"On the way!"
Temporarily stopping her machinegun fire, Ace readjusted her aim and fired her main gun again. A second later, a cloud of smoke popped out behind the bushes as the M88 smoke shell impacted the ground, overshooting its target.
"Shit, too high!" Archer yelled as he lowered the elevation of the gun.
"Fuck!" Tuckerman cursed as lightning flashed overhead, the machinegun fire from his gun resuming. "Pop smoke and load high-velocity!"
"We've got no smoke 'nades left!" Butter shouted as he ejected a newly-spent casing out of the pistol port.
"Fuck! Then just high-velocity!"
The Firefly fired its main gun again, its shell finding its mark on the Tiger but bouncing off harmlessly.
There was no time to waste. He switched over to the radio. "Pluck, do you have smoke grenades?"
"We've got no 'nades, lad!"
"Shit! Then let's flank! Go to his left, I'll handle his right! We're not going down without a fight!"
"Up!"
"Aim for the turret face!" the American commander hollered down his tank. "Fire!"
"On the way!"
"Aye, laddie!" Pluck's commander replied as Ace fired again, the M93 round finding its mark on the turret face but not being able to penetrate, being stopped by the sheer thickness of the armour. "Ye keep rattlin' da daft cunt, ah think ah can pen 'em with da 17-Poundah!" the Briton continued as the muffled sound of gunfire resumed from outside Josh's headphones.
"Let's do it, we'll keep him busy!" Josh replied to the Firefly and switched back to the E8's intercom. "HVAP again! Ford, advance ahead, 3rd gear, maximum RPM!"
"Got it boss!" the driver shouted back as he threw the tank into gear.
Ace lurched forward, the mighty Ford GAA quickly accelerating the tank as Pluck turned, setting off for the other side.
Tuckerman could see the Tiger 2 rotating its gun to face Pluck.
"Keep our machinegun fire concentrated over their gun sights! We'll blind those sons of bitches as well!"
"Already on it!" Archer shouted back. "It's not precise though!"
"Good enough for me!"
"Up!"
"Fire!"
"On the way!"
The HVAP round bounced off the Tiger's front hull harmlessly a few moments later.
The Tiger II fired a shot at Pluck, the round going straight through the front of the Firefly's hull, the resulting explosion throwing the turret into the air.
"Fuck!" Tuckerman cursed as he saw Pluck blow up. "We're on our own! Load smoke!"
As the Easy-Eight continued to advance forward, the 1100 cubic inch V8 roaring at its redline of 2600 revolutions per minute, the 88 mm gun of the King Tiger began to turn to face the M4.
"Where's my goddamn smoke shell?!" Josh yelled anxiously.
"It's in!" Butter yelled back at his commander right after he shoved the M88 round in and the breech slammed shut.
The commander wasted no time in giving the command to fire, the aim of the enemy tank now dangerously close to catching up. Leaving the barrel of the 76 mm gun it was fired from, the smoke shell whizzed right towards the target, impacting the ground right in front of the German heavy…
… And only proceeded to kick dirt up.
"IT'S A FUCKING DUD!" Archer yelled.
"FLOOR IT, FLOOR IT!" the commander yelled down to his driver.
A few moments later, the King Tiger fired.
As a distant bolt of lightning flashed, the 88 mm Panzergranate 39/43 whizzed through the air and straight towards the Easy-Eight, the M4 desperately trying to out-accelerate the turret traverse of the heavy tank.
Maybe it was the wind. Maybe the young, relatively-inexperienced German gunner misjudged his aim. Perhaps it was the sudden unanticipated acceleration of the M4 that threw his aim off. Possibly it was a miracle, a blessing from the heavens. But nonetheless, the AP shell whizzed past behind Ace's turret with less than an inch to spare, impacting the ground a moment later.
"Keep going! High-velocity again!" Josh hollered, wasting no time in making sure he could close the distance between the two tanks more and get his next shot ready as soon as possible. "Shit shit shit shit shit!"
The commander had heard things about the Tiger II, but having no real clue as to what the specifications of the tank actually were beyond the fact that it was an improvement over its preceding design in terms of gun and armour, he had to take his chances. Surely Ace could penetrate this enemy heavy at this close a range, couldn't she?
At the same time, he had been mentally counting the time between each shot of the King Tiger. Now having a rough gauge of when the German would fire again, an idea quickly popped up in his head as thunder rumbled from outside.
It was extremely risky, but it was do or die.
"Cease MG fire! Archer, keep tracking him! Ford, turn towards that son of a bitch as hard as you can when I tell you to!" Tuckerman ordered.
"Roger!" "Up!"
"Ford, now!"
Her right track locking up while at a speed exceeding 20 miles an hour, Ace veered sharply to the right, and right on the commander's cue for the driver Archer traversed the turret left at full rotational speed as well. The Tiger II fired just a moment after Ace's abrupt change in motion, the German gunner surprised by the sudden movement and unable to react in time to adjust his aim. The shell was not going to hit the M4 as intended, but it didn't technically miss either, proceeding to impact the track armour welded onto the left side of the turret at a shallow-enough angle for the combined thickness to bounce it off. The affected tracks were knocked off, and behind them was a deep scrape on the cast iron turret.
Releasing the right brakes, Ford guided the Easy-Eight facing just marginally a little too right than what he intended. A moment later, the T23 turret caught up with the change in direction, the 76 mm M1A2 gun pointed straight at the German heavy once again. The M4 had lost most of the speed it had just moments ago; however, that was part of the plan.
Because with a very accurate, precise shot now possible, Josh intended to take this chance to retaliate properly. "Fire!"
"On the way!" Archer grinned, knowing that this shot was going to land precisely where it wanted it to.
With a bang, the M93 round was sent streaking towards the left side of the King Tiger's turret face, striking it right at where Archer wanted it to be.
But the American commander was not going to wait to see the results. "Ahead 3rd gear! MG his asshole!"
As the tank accelerated up to speed, the coaxial machinegun lit up once more. But something else was missing.
"About RIGHT FUCKING NOW, BABY!" Tuckerman hollered down at his bow machinegunner.
"S-sorry!" was the stumbling reply as the bow machinegun finally came to life.
"We're out of high-velocity!" Butter shouted. "What now?!"
"Fuck!" the commander cursed. "AP then! AP!"
Grabbing an M62, Butter pulled the shell out of the ammunition rack and lifted it up to the gun breech. Moving the shell into the gun nose-first while it was still sideways, he swung the rear into alignment once the rear of the round was not obstructed by the guard plate and pad behind the breech. In one swift motion, he shoved the AP shell into the breech, the momentum tripping the two ejectors, automatically sliding the breech shut with a metallic rattle. "Up!"
"Fir-"
With a loud ping, Ace suddenly slowed down, the engine jerking before stalling altogether as the M4 became motionless.
A hole had been newly punched-in on the left side area of the hull's front plate, just above the left headlamp.
Everything was numb and his ears were still ringing from the impact. But as Josh tried to move, the numbness was replaced with a searing pain from the lower half of his body.
Gasping in pain, he looked inside his tank.
It was now dark inside, but as he took a closer look, he could see the gory details. Blood was everywhere. His crew was dead, all full of German shrapnel.
But somehow, he was still alive.
As he shouted for his driver and bow machinegunner to no avail, the commander looked out of his periscope.
Lightning flashed across as he saw the Tiger II emerge from its hiding place, crushing and pushing away the bushes that had concealed it. The thunder soon rolled in as he faintly heard the revving of the enemy's engine, the heavy tank turning towards Ace. Her commander's hatch opened and out came the triumphant German commander, a wide grin on his face.
Despite his loss, despite the fact that his entire crew was dead, Josh did not feel fear or grief; the adrenaline would not allow him to. Not yet, at least.
The job wasn't done yet.
Getting an idea, Josh looked down at his tank's loaded gun. It looked fine, undamaged even. Whether it was actually working might be another story, but he was going to find out soon. The fact that the interior lights were off, though, pointed to the strong possibility that the electric systems of the tank were compromised, and that was another problem.
With great difficulty, he struggled to stand up, but there was no time to waste if he wanted to pull this off. With a newfound determination, he forced himself to move despite the pain and crept towards the gunner's seat. Pushing the dead body of Archer aside, he grabbed the manual turret traverse and gave it a few slight turns in both directions.
Miraculously, the turret ring was unharmed and the manual traverse system was still functional. At least it seemed like they were. And the same could be said with the gun's manual elevation system as well, as he gave it a few small nudges. He was unsure if the respective power systems were working, but without the engine running it didn't matter. He moved on to the power traverse control joystick and gently nudged it. As he thought, nothing.
There was a small piece of information the commander had heard of some time back, and he intended to test its legitimacy.
King Tigers keep their ammo at the back of their turrets.
Tuckerman crawled back to his seat as the rumbles from the German heavy grew closer. He watched as the tank pulled up on the right of Ace, the grumbling of the Maybach HL 230 P30 clearly audible from inside the M4 as the tank it powered slowed to a stop.
The Wehrmacht tank commander had not retreated back into his tank, instead having taken an interest in the Easy-Eight. Josh watched on tensely as the German visually inspected the American tank, as if he was suspecting something off with her.
Lightning flashed from the overcast skies above, thunder following a few long seconds later.
After what felt like an awfully long amount of time, the German commander seemed to have lost interest in Ace, calmly speaking through his laryngophone and finally retreating down his hatch.
The Maybach V12 roared as the German heavy turned away from Ace, its rear directly facing the M4 before setting off, headed for a new destination.
The Germans had inadvertently made Tuckerman's job much easier.
Josh just watched as the German heavy moved away from Ace.
He waited.
100 meters.
150 meters.
200 meters.
That was far enough; there was no time to waste. Pulling himself out of his seat, the commander forced himself towards the gunner's seat as quickly as he could, as painful as it was for him. Sitting down, he immediately grabbed the manual turret traverse handcrank and spun it as quickly as he could.
Time seemed to pass an awful lot more slowly as the turret rotated slowly to the right, Josh turning the wheel as hard and quickly as he can despite his injuries. Tuckerman didn't know if the King Tiger had noticed his movements, but that didn't matter anyway; it was too late to stop.
As he adjusted the elevation of the gun at the same time, the rear of the German heavy came into view from his sights, now almost some 400 meters away. Slowing down, he expertly adjusted his aim as he looked through the M71D telescope sight, giving himself a buffer of a few seconds before the Tiger II got to the range where he was waiting for it to get to.
Now, physically firing the main gun was the harder part; without electricity, the only way to fire the 76 mm M1 was with a pedal mounted on the turret floor, forward of the pair of foot buttons that would otherwise be used under ordinary circumstances. Now, this pedal would take some effort to press on, which wouldn't usually be a problem. Unless, of course, your lower half of your body was full of shrapnel.
But that wasn't going to stop him. No, that wasn't going to stop Joshua Tuckerman at all.
And as he braced himself for the pain, the King Tiger drove into position, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.
Its fate was sealed.
"I win."
Stepping down on the pedal as hard as he could, Ace fired the decisive, final shot of the skirmish.
Barely a moment later, the M62 round struck the rear of the enemy's turret. The force of all the ammunition stored in the racks at the back of the aforementioned turret simultaneously exploding was so great, not only was everyone in the tank instantly killed, it completely disintegrated its rear half while completely ripping the front half off the rest of the tank, the barrel of the 88 mm KwK 43 L/71 impacting the ground muzzle-first as the rounds stored in the hull were ignited. No matter how formidable it was, despite what she had done to the Allied platoon, all it ultimately took was a single shell to reduce the once-mighty German heavy into a burning, exploding wreck.
Tuckerman leaned against the bloody turret, panting heavily in pain, the cooking-off of the rounds of the different tanks even audible from inside as thunder boomed in between them. It was done. The Germans were dead.
All it "only" took were the deaths of 4 tanks and 23 good men.
A single drop of water landed on the turret of the Easy-Eight. A few seconds later, another one landed on the M4 as well, and then another, and then another. It didn't take long before the droplets intensified into a light drizzle, a soft pattering now audible from inside the tank.
That drizzle was not going to stay as one for long.
The storm had finally arrived.
But the tank commander was only going to grieve later.
The job wasn't done yet.
Forcing himself to get up once more, Josh slowly dragged himself over to the commander's seat as the drizzle quickly escalated into a full-fledged downpour. A bright light flashed through the view ports of the commander's cupola, and following it a second later was a loud clap of thunder, overpowering the loud, heavy pattering of rain heard from inside Ace during its presence.
Grabbing his radio's handset, Tuckerman used his other hand to switch his radio over to the channel for communications back to base.
Help was about to arrive. He just hoped he'd live long enough to receive it.