After I graduated from the Grundschule in 1975, I continued on to Kuromorimine Middle School. The Kuromorimine family of schools has a system in which high-scoring students in their final year are allowed to move straight up to the next level of education, without being subject to the strict tests that newcomers had to take. Many schools today offer the exact same benefits - if they have the resources - but at that time Kuromorimine was only one of the handful to do so.

Anyway, middle school for me was not so different from elementary school. Lessons were marginally more challenging - but never overwhelming - and the sensha-do was more or less the same. The only major difference I perceived was the marked improvement in the tanks available to us. Not the best, of course - those went to the high-school sections - but instead of the tin cans that we used we had what I considered real tanks. The main force was composed of the unassuming but rugged Panzer IVs, as well as StuG assault guns, rounded out by a couple of 38ts that served as our scouting force. There were none of the heavy tanks that I was used to training with at home, but we did have a VK 36.01 replica - an early version of the Tiger that had never seen battle. Nevertheless it was similar enough that I felt much more comfortable in it than the thinly-armoured flag tank of the elementary school team. Many of my graduating classmates also served alongside me, and there were very few new students - the entry tests must have been incredibly strict - so that my team, to me, was more or less just an aged-up version of the one I had grown up with.

It was somewhat liberating to be part of the team that I had always envied in elementary school, with their heavier armour and greater numbers, which were far more imposing than the Panzer IIIs and IIs that made up most of the elementary school team. Well, now I finally had my command, and a good enough approximation of the heavily armoured force that I was used to.

The Grundschule and the Kuromorimine Middle School team had always competed in different divisions of the Under-16s, partly because of the marked disparity in equipment, and partly so as not to face each other across the field. The more well-funded middle school team would be in division "A", while our team - with its lighter tanks and younger girls - would be in "B", with the other elementary schools as well as the middle schools who fielded much weaker teams than their contemporaries. In my stint as team commander, during my second and third year, I had the privilege of facing enemies of a far higher calibre than I was used to in elementary school, such as Saunders' University Middle School and St. Gabrielle's Middle School For Girls. But although the road was rockier, the outcome was the same. Kuromorimine still stood undefeated, but we cut it very close in my third year, when the finals match was against Chiyo, who was - being a year younger than me - in her first year as commander of the St. Gabrielle's team.

It was exhilarating. But sensha-do was far from the strongest memory I have of those days - because something else happened that would affect my life forever.

I remember the day very well. It was a summer day in 1977 - the exact date eludes my memory and I doubt that I will be able to recall it ever again.

I was walking home from school, on one of the days that I didn't have sensha-do practice. The thinner fabric of the summer uniform did not do much against the scorching heat of the June sun prickling at the back of my neck. I was used to the discomfort, of course - what with all the training - but that didn't mean that it did not affect me.

By the time I got home I was quite cross. Not at anything in particular, just the quietly sizzling annoyance that happens when you get all hot and bothered. However, I could tell immediately that something was off at home. First off, the servants, who normally greeted me warmly when I arrived, were far more stilted and reserved, and some of them avoided me outright. When the head servant, Kikuyo, approached me, she had an odd mixture of pity and worry in her eyes.

"The master would like to see you in her study, Shiho-sama."

"What for?" I asked. My mother would normally never ask to see me right after I got back from school, preferring to let me take a bath and settle down before bringing up whatever matters were at hand. Unless this was something particularly pressing, in which case…

"Did she say why?"

"No," Kikuyo replied. "I cannot give you the answer. The master insists that she tell you herself."

My heart sank at Kikuyo's choice of words. "Why? Is it bad news?"

Kikuyo smiled sadly. "Only if you see it that way."

Well, that wasn't helping. My heart wormed even lower into my belly. "All right. I'll… uh, go now."

When I entered the study I saw my mother sitting at the square table that was the only piece of furniture in the room. Sitting at a right angle to her was a boy whose face I dimly remembered.

"Sit down, Shiho. I have a matter of grave importance to communicate to you."

My original intention was to go into the study and ask for permission to freshen up before coming back, but my words died in my mouth when I saw the stony expression on my mother's face.

I sat down in seiza position, opposite my mother.

"Shiho, you may recognise Tsuneo here. He is the first son of the Honekawa clan, who have been integral to the Nishizumis for a long time - first as squires and horsemasters, and then as mechanics."

So that's who he was. "Hello," I said softly. He nodded almost imperceptibly, keeping his eyes on the ground. I could see a faint dusting of red across his face.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush, Shiho, so listen carefully. Since the eighteenth century it has been the tradition of the first daughter of the Nishizumi school to marry a man from the Honekawas as a way to strengthen the ties between the families. I have called you here today to meet your future husband."

I wasn't aware of the words at first. They just sank into my brain like stones into a pond. And then it hit me.

"Wait, wait, wait," I said. "You want me to do what?"

"Marry Tsuneo," my mother said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Meanwhile Tsuneo's face turned an even deeper shade of red.

"I can't do that," I protested. "I'm fourteen. Why do you want me to do it anyway?"

"I married your father when I was fifteen," my mother pointed out. "Anyway, we're not doing it now, of course. You will marry him when you turn eighteen, as is the law in this country."

"But - " I stammered. Don't I get a say in this? Don't I get to decide who I spend my life with? That was what I wanted to say. But those words caught in my throat, and came out as "I barely know him."

"Do you think I knew your father when I married him?" was the reply.

"I - "

"Four years, Shiho. I'm giving you four years to come to terms with this. I'm not asking you to marry a man you don't know. You've seen Tsuneo before, working on the tanks. You have four years to get to know him."

"But - but I don't…love him." I regretted the words the moment they came out of my mouth. They sounded small, and selfish, and I hated myself for saying them. But it was true.

"That is inconsequential," said my mother coldly. "This is not America. Any other man would baulk at taking the name of his wife, and Tsuneo is by all considerations a good person. He will marry you, as your father married me, and as my mother married before me. This, too, is the Nishizumi way."

That night I lay in bed, feeling as if a bolt of lightning had coruscated over my skin and covered my entire body in a numb tingle. I had never paid much attention to the matters of romance, like some of my other classmates, but somewhere in the back of my mind I always thought that if I were to get married - and that was a big if - it would have been with someone that I loved willingly. Someone that treated me well. Someone that made me laugh. Not - not -

I couldn't even tell myself a single reason why I didn't want to marry Tsuneo. That was how little I knew him. Forget loving him - I couldn't even dislike him.

Here I was, at the age of fourteen, betrothed to a boy whose face I barely knew. Would he be like my father? Or would he be angry? What if he was stronger than me? At the end of the day I was a girl and he was a boy. Would he shout, or throw things at me, like in the films I saw on television?

When that thought crossed my mind a lump formed in my throat. The wet heat pooling at the back of my eyes was a foreign feeling, and I don't know if it was born of sadness or fear.

What will become of me?