A/N:
This took forever to make! The only excuse I have is procrastination, lol. But hey, at least this one is longer than usual!

As I've said before, this chapter is from a first-person perspective. This will be the only chapter like this. I just wanted to try something new to keep this story fresh.

Anyway, enjoy!

Saturday October 5th, 2013

My morning started like all other mornings since the day I started schooling, with a shock. At five in the morning, I was awoken by a familiar jolt from the electric bracelet that wore snugly on my wrist. It served as my alarm and a damn good one at that as it never failed me. Now, you may ask yourself, why do I subject myself to being zapped every morning for the past several years rather than opt for the typical blaring alarm that pretty much everyone on Earth uses. Well, firstly, it doesn't hurt that much at all. In fact, I think I'm starting to actually like and look forward to the morning jolt. Also, I like to think that a zap can wake a person up better than any noise can. Secondly, and this is perhaps the most important bit...

I'm deaf.

I have been deaf all my life. I was born with it. And if I haven't already won big in the genetic lottery, the type of deafness I have is a rare phenomenon; Anacusis, absolute deafness. I've met more than enough people than I'd like to count who said that they are 'sorry' for me. That their 'heart aches' whenever they meet people like me. I know they mean well, they really do, but stuff like that irks me beyond belief. Whenever people say that I always give them the same response.

"Don't feel sorry for me because I'm not. I like to think I'm thriving."

That usually shuts them up with a smile.

Still, I'd be lying to you and myself if I said I never wondered how profoundly different my life would be if I could hear. I'd also be lying if I said I never had those downer days when I was genuinely depressed and downtrodden that I couldn't hear. Couldn't hear things like the beats and tunes of moving music, the loving voices of friends and family that ooze warmth, and the roaring waves of the oceans that have now become a part of my life.

People go on and on about how beautiful those sounds are. I'll just have to take their word for it.

My usual morning routine, after getting shocked, you see, is to take a shower. Always, always, a shower. I cannot stand a bad odor. The thought of me smelling bad honestly terrifies me. I'm so thankful that my sense of smell is absolutely top-notch. Like, incredibly so. I can tell when people need to shower way before they realize it themselves. World's worst superpower right there. Marvel won't be making a movie about a person like me anytime soon.

After I took a shower, which took no time at all, I perfected the science around it. I went about getting dressed for the day. As today was Saturday, there was practice. Practice for the team were days that I loved and so looked forward to. As I was putting on my uniform, my gaze matched my opposite in the mirror in my bedroom. When I look at myself, I think about how this moment I am through now almost did not happen. I vividly remember that late autumn day back home at Barstow when Haley, bubbling with excitement, ran up to me during lunch with two papers clutched in her hand.

"They have an opening! They have spots!" she told me. She was so excited that it took her a few tries to sign the right words.

"What opening?" I responded to her. I remember being so confused at the time. Though when I read the papers she brought, it became clear. They were applications.

"The tankery team got two new tanks! I snagged these applications right as they became available!" Haley explained. "What do you say? Me. You. In a tank?"

I'll never forget the look on her face when I initially said no. You'd need a high-tech slow-motion camera to properly capture the transition of her face going from pure joy to solid disappointment.

Haley immediately began to poke and prod, asking why. My answer to her was straightforward; what could I really do? Drive? Fat chance. Any good driver carefully listens to the engine to know when to shift gears else they stall out and become an easy target. Shoot? A gunner is told where the enemy is so that's a no-go right there. Being a radio operator? I don't think I have to explain myself why that role wouldn't suit me. And then there's the commander role. They need all five senses and then some to do the job even decently. Nope nope nope.

When I explained all my reasons to Haley back then, she had that expression of "Oooh, right," but then it quickly changed as she had a newfound hope. With cautious optimism, she asked,

"What about being a loader?"

I stupidly responded, "What does a loader do?"

She laid it all out. As a loader, I'd be responsible for reloading the main gun. Shocker, right? That's all my job would be. Pretty straightforward. But, a small concern hit me. Though I didn't know a whole lot about tanks before joining the team, I did know that there were different types of shells, armor-piercing, high-explosive, all that jazz. How would a person quickly and effectively communicate with me what kind of shell would need to be loaded for a particular situation?

When I brought this up to Haley, she arrived at a solution in a matter of moments that made me feel stupid again.

"I'd sign to you what kind of ammo is needed," Haley proposed. "Sign to you like this,"

In quick succession, Haley signed to me the letters 'AP' and 'HE'. With that, I was convinced. All the apprehension evaporated like water thrown into a roaring furnace. Haley and I submitted our applications the next morning and the rest is history.

I cannot be thankful enough for Haley's efforts in making me join the team. I could go on and on about how my experience so far for me was enriching and how the sport at large was empowering, and while both are true, I must admit the biggest reason why I enjoy this sport; it kicks so much ass.

Haley has always been looking out for me since the very moment we met. It was during the third grade when it happened. Me, being deaf and all, was put in a special class in elementary school. These special classes weren't purely for deaf kids. It was a mix of students who all had some form of physical disability. I once was good friends with a boy, about a year younger than me, who had cerebral palsy, and another boy, around my age, who was confined to a wheelchair. They were great people and it was them who made the class for me fun every day though, sadly, we all lost touch after elementary. This was during the days when not every kid had a cellphone surgically attached to their body, so keeping contact was kinda a bit too much for a younger me to really do right. Or at all.

Now, these special classes...weren't great. The teacher was great. Outstanding, even, but the program it was a part of never seemed to get the funding that it duly deserved. Looking back at it now, I think it was a pure miracle that I got an interpreter for me at all.

One day, as we were all doing some reading, the door to the room opened, and in entered the girl who would become my dearest friend; Haley Pearce. Her presence lit up the room with a warm glow. Appropriate, as her hair was, as is now, as gold and shiny as the sun. She was in my class because of some volunteer thing that was going on back then. She had heard about the special class and had always been curious about what exactly went on in there. Haley was tasked with being a teacher's aid, and, god, did the teacher so desperately needed all the help she could get.

Haley from the onset seemed to gravitate toward me. She had never met a deaf person until meeting me. She was neverendingly fascinated with the whole concept. Young Haley would clap as hard she could to test just how deaf I was. She was utterly astounded that I did not react at all to the noise and even more so once the information was relayed to her that I didn't even know she clapped even though it happened right next to my ear.

The fact that I could not hear a thing captivated her. As if a whole ocean wave of curiosity ran over her and submerged her deep. A curiosity that would only grow when she witnessed my interpreter and I communicating which prompted her to ask, "What is that? With your hands?"

From that day on, Haley had wholly dedicated herself to learning American Sign Language. My interpreter gave her a crash course where then Haley would practice on me. When she was not learning with either of us, she read up on the few ASL books in the school library and tore into them all with great vigor.

This period of my life was something that I treasured. No one else in my life has gone to such lengths for me. By the time we both entered the fourth grade, we had become the best of friends. Not only that, she had essentially become a second interpreter for me as her proficiency with sign language had become exemplary. For the remainder of our time at elementary, we were together. Together at recess. Together at lunch. Even together in class. Haley going above and beyond had given the administration at the school confidence to place me in a regular classroom alongside Haley. For our whole sixth grade, I was in a standard classroom with all the other kids. For the first time, I was in a classroom that felt so big. At least compared to the special classes which were all I'd know until then. For a lot of people, the sixth grade for them is nothing more than a fleeting memory. They may only remember one or two key events if they remember anything at all. But for me, every little thing that happened during that year will always be remembered. The year that I finally became a regular person like everyone else.

From middle school onward, steps have been made for Haley and I to always have the same schedule. The passing years have only further cemented our relationship with it blossoming into something truly special.

Without her, in all likelihood, I'd still be in those special classes to this day. Without her, I'd never truly know how it would be to just be a normal kid where my deafness didn't even occupy a thought. Without her, I'd never even entertained the idea of joining a tankery team. Without Haley, my life wouldn't be as fun. I can never fully appreciate how much she impacted my life for the better. I'm lucky. Extraordinarily so. And can you believe Haley says she's the lucky one? Such a dear.

With how much she'd done for me in the past and now, I often wonder what our future would be like. Things can change but there is one thing I can count on as sure as I can count on the sun rising every day. That she will be right by my side.

Once I was all dressed, I made some breakfast, which was always annoying. I'm no cook, so I microwave a lot of food and that's the annoying part. You see, microwaves beep when they're done. I can't freaking hear those beeps so I have to stand by the damn thing staring at the timer. I gotta stay there 'cause I know if I leave to do something else, I will forget. And when I do eventually remember that I microwaved something, it's like an hour later and the food is ice cold so I gotta do it all over again.

What a life.

When I finished my breakfast, I headed out of my apartment and went outside. I was early, as I tend to be, as there weren't many of the team outside and making their way to the garage. I stood by the entrance to wait for Haley and the rest of my crew as we all like to walk together. As I waited, I felt a small vibration coming from my pocket. Whipping out my phone, I saw that I received a text from Madison. The moment I saw that notification, my heart began to flutter and a blush came about. Oh, the feelings that girl elicits in me. I'm on Cloud Nine anytime I'm near her.

"Good morning," her text began. "I need your help with something."

"Say no more,"I replied without skipping a beat. "What is it?"

"I need your help procuring a little something. I'll drop by your guys' practice later to explain more then."

"Okey. See you soon."

"Okey."

It doesn't matter what she wants; she'll get it. That is the story of Madison Force. She's also a girl born of immense privilege that lives a life of the utmost luxury. I wouldn't say I'm totally envious but more in awe. In awe that despite living 'the good life', Madison, like everyone else, still has her own nagging collection of problems. Her parents, for one. Now, Madison loves her parents, she has a fierce love for them. But they aren't together all that often. Hell, she told me of a time how in a whole year, they were only all physically together in one place a grand total of three times.

Three. Freaking. Times.

I still can't wrap my head around that. I get that her parents are super busy people, considering their careers and all, but I would've never imagined that they would all have such an extreme level of busyness. Honestly, I think it's nothing short of a miracle that they are able to have video calls once a week. I video call my parents daily. If I were to miss a day, I'd feel terrible about it all month.

Despite it all, Madison's family are still a tight-knit group. Really goes to show the strength they all have. Especially Madison. No one may think it when they look at her; a girl who looks and oozes snobbery. Someone who, truthfully, was spoiled and at times out-of-touch. A person who meets her might get a poor impression if they had lived a different, more frugal life. But that's only meeting her. A surface-level glance. What happens when you take a deeper look and actually get to know her. What happens is that you learn that Madison is a girl of unbelievable strength. Ironclad. Bulletproof. Inspiring. Her speed and tenacity when solving problems would leave an Olympic sprinter in the dust gasping for air. What best encapsulates what a person like Madison can do was the time she learned about Valarie.

It was little more than a year ago when Madison first learned that she had a half-sister. She knew in that instance that she had to meet her no matter what. After a lot of work, helped by a decent chunk of cash, Madison got all the details she wanted. The next stage then was to, of course, meet her, but that was easier said than done! As Madison explained to me,

"Sure, I knew her address. But me going across the state to Barstow to show up at her house out of the blue would perhaps be the most bizarre start to any relationship ever. First impressions are important, after all."

And what a first impression. After spectating the team throughout the entirety of the American nationals, at the finals, she made her grand entrance right then and there. She made that offer that made everything that's happening now possible. Everything that she has gone through and done has reinforced a belief that I already held dearly; love is a power greater than the sun. A love that she joyfully shares with me.

Several more minutes in the worsening weather passed before Haley and the rest of the crew arrived outside. We all got together and started to make our way to the garage. Haley and I engaged in some casual chatter that was joined by our gunner and driver, Heidi and Danielle. Ever since we came together as a crew, Haley has gone out of her way to teach those two the fundamentals of ASL. They aren't fluent or anything, but they know enough to handle a simple conversation. That's more than enough for me, really. To be able to speak to my whole crew, my friends, has brought me to a new level of happiness.

Danielle and Heidi being taught some sign language wasn't the only thing Haley had done to make the crew as a whole more comfortable and united. Her overall command style also played a role. Haley is a girl who never in a million years would I label stern. She was bubbly since the day she was born. When in the commander's seat, Haley as a person doesn't change one bit. Yes, she does hold some degree of authority, but egalitarianism not only runs through the crew but throughout the whole team. Though that has more to do with Valarie than with anyone else. I think I can speak for some people on the team that people expected, more anxious about Valarie having a more 'serious' approach to leadership. Like, being military-ish. A whole bunch of "Yes ma'ams," "Affirmatives," and, "10-4s".

That was what most expected. That the team would be run like most others not only throughout the county, but worldwide. Evidently, Valarie had other ideas. As I learned some time ago, she has some kind of disdain for any kind of formality, which extends into her leadership style. Now, if anyone on the team says an "Affirmative", they are one-hundred percent doing it sarcastically as if military jargon as a whole was a joke.

Consequently, everything has been lax. I suppose that's why newcomers adapt and learn pretty quickly. The team offers such a comfortable environment that no one ever feels intimidated when they first come on board. No sense of intimidation means they can get right into training. This is all by design, and really, it's an underrated accomplishment of Valarie to get the team's culture like this. It's thanks to her putting in the work that I was able to smoothly learn the ropes.

By the time we arrived at the garage, it was a hive of activity. All over there people double and triple checking that they've done all the needed preparations for practice today. At our tank, we immediately set out to work. Though, for a moment, I stood there in front of the Jumbo. Now, I could be biased here but I am absolutely smitten about this chubby Sherman. It's done some great work but a tank is only as great as its crew. I've already talked at length about Haley. Of which, I can talk a whole lot more about here to fill out an entire encyclopedia. But that wouldn't be fair to the others.

There's Heidi, our gunner. She's a total clean freak. Everyday, she meticulously and methodically cleans every inch of the Jumbo, inside and out. On the outside, she takes great care to ensure that not a speck of dirt or debris on the tracks nor the roadwheels. She also applies a special wax on the steel hull to keep it nice and shiny at the expense of always keeping it somewhat slippery. None of us have slipped and fell off, though. Not yet.

Great care was taken with the cannon. Heidi, religiously, removes the soot from within the gun barrel. She read long ago that if too much soot or whatever accumulates it may cause a misfire. Worse case, it could even destroy the barrel outright. Now, I think the latter has like a one-in-a-billion odds, but nonetheless, Heidi treated this small, very remote possibility as if it was only a missed day of cleaning away.

Then there's her efforts for the interior. Like the outside, her meticulousness extended to within. All the surfaces were regularly wiped down with disinfectant, doubly so after matches and practice. The gun sight was routinely inspected, cleaned, and replaced immediately even if only the tiniest of damages was found. To top it all off, Heidi has strategically placed bottles of hand sanitizer all throughout the fighting compartment so that a bottle is never more than an arm's reach. Funnily enough, she doesn't like it when we call her a cleanfreak. Much less a germaphobe.

Now onto Danielle. She's a curious girl to me. Unlike most drivers on the team, who all have some level of interest in cars or motorsports, she does not. Her having the role as driver wasn't her first choice though she hasn't complained one bit. Since taking on the role, she has been quite adept at it. That is thanks to Heather — who scares me sometimes — as she personally trained every driver on the team, and not only that, has practically become the team's chief mechanic. Like, geez, she was one hell of a knack for that kind of stuff.

Danielle not being enthusiastic whatsoever about cars and such wouldn't be enough for me to label her as curious. No, what made her an intriguing person to me was the motions of her body, primarily how she moved her hands. Since I first met her, I've noticed from the get go that she was a reserved person and not much of a talker. As time went on, I couldn't help but see that whenever things got busy, not even tense, that she'd habitually crack her knuckles and always do so behind her back as if to hide it. I came to a conclusion that Danielle had anxiety of some form with the cracking of knuckles some kind of coping mechanism. No one else that I can tell has also made this observation and I wouldn't be surprised that her own parents are also none the wiser. Just through my eyes alone am I able to identify and understand her. My lens to see the world is all that I can rely on and I am a master of my craft.

In other words, I can use my eyes real good, okay?

A touch on my shoulder from Haley was a signal to me that it was to go. All around me I see people clamber onto and into their machines. One after the other, I feel the start-up of each engine as they come to life. I myself hop into my usual seat in the Jumbo. In the next moment, the tank lurched forward and crawled out of the garage and toward the training grounds

Boom

Outside, from the right, a cannon erupted with fire. Even sitting inside an enclosed steel box does not mean that when guns go off outside, I don't notice them. Every time a cannon goes off, I can feel it. The sensations from the vibrations are nothing that I have ever felt before taking up the sport. After months of being subjugated to these vibrations, I've learned to pick up on the subtleties of each one. For example, the one just now came from the Panther II. I know it was and I don't even have to look. The Long 88 is one hell of a distinctive gun.

BOOM

Our whole tank shook as it fired. God, the power from this gun. It's not the biggest on the team, but it can still pack a mean punch. The design of the 76 makes my job real easy. An instant after the gun was fired, the breech opened up all on its own and the spent shell was ejected where it fell down into a netted basket. I reach for the warm casing and toss it outside through a pistol port. Then, reflexively, I grabbed a fresh shell from the ready rack and shoved the thing deep into the breech. In less than five seconds, the gun was at the ready. It's a series of actions that I've long since committed to memory.

In the next moment did the Jumbo fire again, shaking just as much. As I prepare to load another, I take a brief moment not only to catch my breath but to also gaze at the crew. They were busy, obviously, in the moment, and totally focused. From the way their lips were moving, chatter between them was constant and quick. I can read lips pretty well, something I learned over time, so what they're saying was about targeting, distance, boys they like, and so on.

BOOM

The sky shook as it was ripped in two. Behind our tank a good half mile away was the SU-14. The sensation that piece of artillery can give off struck deep into the marrow of my bones. The sheer power of that gun is nothing short of awe-inspiring, borderline terrifying. I'm stunned that such a thing is even allowed in this sport, but if Valarie is to be believed, there are bigger guns in play. Much bigger.

Firing practice went on for another hour before we went to the next item on the agenda, driving. By now, every driver on the team is at the very least respectable at their role so Valarie had created some kind of advanced driving training regime. This part of practice has always been my favorite as it allowed me to pop out of the loader's hatch and take in the sigh of all the moving machinery. The team today were taking full advantage of the rainy weather to practice driving in rough terrain. The ground in the training area was all muddy and there were puddles of water all over. More than perfect for what was to be done.

The team got together and all drove along a formerly dirt road, now muddy, that led further into the wilderness. Well, as much 'wilderness' there can be on a school ship. As one would expect, travel was slow. Tracks dug and tore into the earth. Chunks of mud that were kicked up in the air by one tank would fall and splatter on another behind them. The weather worsened the further we advanced. Our already slow drive was reduced to a crawl. For the heavier tanks, they sank into the ground. Ahead of us, the SU-100 went from moving only just faster than a snail to being bogged down completely.

The tank destroyer's truck spun uselessly and only served to make their situation worse. Rough. I then saw the SU crew hop out. They made for a log that they carried strapped to one side of their machine. A log that they scavenged from a fallen tree about a month ago. For the longest time, I wondered why they hauled that big hunk of wood around with them. I thought at first that it was just for looks, and really, it does look good on them. What that log was actually for was that it was essentially one big tool. It took the whole crew to carry the log and get it into position. One of the girls, the driver, I'm guessing, got back in the vehicle. The SU-100 lurched forward and one of its tracks caught on the log. With some effort, it was able to move forward ever so slowly and, at last, drove itself out of the thick mud...

Only to get stuck once again after like ten feet. Such is life.

During this whole operation, no one from any of the nearby tanks came out to help them. This wasn't because of malice or laziness, but all on purpose. Valarie had said from the onset that any problems that arose during our drive was only to be solved by the crews directly impacted by them. This was because during a match, there was a decent chance that tank crews would be all alone. Being alone in a match isn't ideal but it also can't be totally avoided. When help can be minutes away, seconds matter. Better to have the know-how to solve problems by yourselves rather than sitting tight and hope that a friendly can get to you faster than a bullet.

For the remainder of the morning, this is what we all did. It was all stop and go with every tank on the team getting stuck at some point. When the Jumbo got caught in the mud, we all had to bust out shovels and dig ourselves out. Let me tell you, that was exhausting as all hell. And, God, the mud. Good lord, that mud. I have no idea why it stunk so bad. It, it was foul. Something must have died in there because I dug into a pocket that smelled putrid.

It must be stuck in my nose. I can still smell it. Ugh.

Once noon rolled around, it was our lunch break. Since it was still a bit rainy, the whole team huddled underneath a thick canopy of trees. I could feel the atmosphere of the team shift from industrious to festive. No joke, with like sixty people all in one general place, it kinda does feel like a festival. People are taking a load off here by playing games, cooking food, and playing music. I assume the latter is somewhat fun.

With my crew at the Jumbo, we all ate together. I packed some soup and some other snacks along with a nice hot tea. Oh, did that warm me up real good. Out of my hatch, I ate and enjoyed the coolness of the air that the weather had brought. At times like this, I'm usually left alone so it came as a great surprise when I suddenly felt a tapping sensation coming from the right side of the hull. I leaned over and, lo and behold, and it was Madison. I mean, I knew she was coming but not in the way she did. She arrived fully dressed in a cloak with a hood over her head. Its green color matched well with the scenery. Though it was plain looking, knowing her, it surely had a price tag of at least five hundred dollars. Nothing out of the usual for her.

I hop down from the tank to meet her on ground level. "You're here. What's up?"

Madison checked her surroundings real quick. She didn't want anyone to know she was here. "I'm in a bit of a bind," she told me. "I need something from you. More specifically, from your tank."

I was perplexed at what she said. What did she mean exactly? I had my guesses, but I had to ask as whatever she wanted wasn't my right to give.

"Why don't you ask Valarie for help? I think that's the right way to go about this." I could feel Madison. Well, I saw her do it too but the feeling was more impactful.

"Asking her will get me nowhere," she said. "I have no choice but to be discreet. Please, can you help me?"

It was very hard to refuse those pleading eyes. I gave in. Can you blame me? "Alright, alright. What do you need?"

"A tank shell."

I very obviously mouthed 'What. The. Fuck.' to her answer. I did not expect her to say that at all. I thought she was crazy and I still kinda do, but I just gave her my word so there's no turning back now. But first, a bit of interrogating.

"Who is this for?" I asked

"Oh...some girl who's three-quarters of the way to being a full blown nutcase. She did me a solid and I'm now obligated to pay her back?"

"What the hell does she want with it?"

"I've got no clue."

"What if it's for something illegal?"

"No...probably not. I've known the girl for some time and she's never done anything...drastic."

I was very conflicted here. To give, to me, a stranger a ready-to-fire 76mm armor-piercing-high-explosive shell made my stomach do somersaults. However, Madison had some degree of trust into this quirky girl. If she can trust her, kind off, then so can I...kind off.

"Wait here for a sec," I said.

Leaving her alone for just a moment, I walked to the other side of the Jumbo to fetch Haley. I wanted her in on this going forward. I filled her in on what had happened and paid close attention to her face to gauge her reaction. She had the same discomfort I had, but not any hint of total rejection. A good sign. After a brief amount of time of furious contemplation, she finally gave a nod of approval.

"Okay," she said. "Let's make this quick."

With a hand gesture, Haley gave me a command that I understood immediately. I clambered up the Jumbo and made my way inside. Before doing anything, I took a cautious peek through the commander's periscope. A good twenty feet or so away was the T-44 with Valarie in clear view. Not only that, but the turret wasn't orientated in the right direction. The pistol port where I chuck the spent shells was pointed in the wrong direction away from Madison who would very much rather remain hidden.

The tank's engine was off, since it was break time and all, so I didn't have any powered traverse. There was the APU, the auxiliary power unit, but it must have some factory defect or something because the damn thing almost never worked. We talk a lot about fixing it or outright replacing the damn thing but we never do. Maybe we should. Whatever, that's beside the point. The only option I had right at that moment was to hand crank the turret. It was slow but it was also quiet. Maybe? It could've been freaking squeaking for all I know!

With great care did I reach for the turret controls and began to crank. All the while, I shot glances at Valarie from the periscope to observe her behavior. She was with a group of people, clearly lost in conversation, There was no way she'd even notice for sure. Confident, I hurry with the cranking. In no time was it in position. The pistol port was opened and a blast of cold air rushed in. I turned to grab an AP round from the ready rack and slid the thing right out the tank. In hindsight, I probably should have looked first to make sure the shell didn't hit either Madison or Haley. Nobody was hit, thankfully, though a part of me thinks those two wouldn't tell me anyway.

When I returned back outside, I was pleased to see Madison with a shell in hand. She cradled it as if it was a baby. Upon noticing me, she set it on the ground in order to speak to me.

"Wow! These things are way heavier than I thought. No wonder all you loaders are all ripped."

My face instantly broke out in a blush. I don't think I'm that ripped. Now toned, well, that's a category that fits me quite nicely. I didn't allow myself to get flustered over the compliment, not in public, at least. There was still stuff that needed to be done.

"You better get on outta here," I gesture to Madison. "Longer you stick around, the more likely someone will see you.

"Right!"

Madison grabbed the shell and hid it underneath her cloak. She turned to leave but right before doing so, she first rushed over to me to give me a quick peck on the cheek. Now with me blushing, again, and harder now than ever, she made her departure. She moved quickly into the woods from where she came, disappearing into the brush. And so ends the Great Tank Shell Heist of 2013. I probably made it appear more dramatic than it really was.

Also, oh shit, was all this like a felony? Oh well. I'll take my chances.

Do you want to know something that very few people outside the sport know about? Like, what do we do with the spent shell casings? You see, on practice days, the team shoots a lot. It's to compensate as for other teams, practice for them is more regular. With how we're structured, we can only practice once a week so we make that count. Consequently, a lot of casings get produced and we can't just keep them in the tanks during firing drills because they get filled very quickly so pretty much everyone throws them outside to keep the fighting compartment clear. So, when practice comes to a close we don't just drive back to the garage and call it a day. Nope. It's up to all of us to gather all the spent casings from the ground and that can take some time. It took about an hour and half to gather every spent, to load them all in crates, and haul them, along with ourselves, back to the garage. Why do this in the first place? Well, mainly, littering is a dickish thing to do, but moreover, it's mandated by the ATA. They want these casings sent back to them to be recycled for new shells.

Yeah, this sport ain't all glamour.

It wasn't until it was near seven in the evening when I finally returned to my little apartment. I was sore as all hell as my arms took a brutal beating from all that loading, so I was in no mood to do any cooking whatsoever as I could barely lift a pan. So, like many times before, I relied upon the trusty microwave. I pop in a frozen hamburger and as it cooks, I go for a shower. A good, long, hot, shower. Oh man did I indulge myself as I sure did deserve it after a day like this.

Once I was all refreshed I slipped into my evening wear; gray sweatpants and a comfy long sleeve shirt. I returned to the microwave to dine on a moderately warm cheeseburger as I sat myself down in front of the TV. You may be confused as to why I bother to watch TV at all, but believe me, it has been a surprisingly effective aid. You see, TV was where I picked up on reading lips. And when you've been doing this for years, you tend to be pretty damn good at it. I keep this little talent of mine a secret where only Haley knows. It's my ace in the hole to ensure that no one talks trash either about my friends or me right in my presence. Just because I can't hear does not mean I don't understand. Thankfully no one's been that stupid...yet.

I flipped to the news, because I'm boring like that, and got lucky as the news was reporting on the world tournament. They were sharing clips from all the recent matches. I was glued to the screen hoping, begging, praying that I'd see the team and, lo and behold, there we were. It was only for like six seconds but it was us without a doubt. It was from the match in Bolivia and an intense moment at that. The tracer fire filled the screen like furious fireflies. In that clip I recognized every tank that was featured even if they only appeared for a single frame. It was all so cool to see.

In the next segment, from what I could gather from the broadcasters, was something I never heard of before. The concept of a coalition team. Here, instead of one team being composed entirely by one school, it's one tankery team that's composed of multiple schools. Almost always these coalition teams are composed of the absolute best tankery athletes a nation has to offer. One school leads the coalition with the rest following subordinate roles. This lead school is always one that's either highly experienced or proved to be extremely exceptional.

I don't think we've faced off against a coalition team so far in the tournament. I like to think they'd be fairly obvious to spot but what do I know? If we haven't faced such a team yet, I hope we do sometime soon. We'll kick their ass. Or maybe they'll be the end of us all and send us home. Honestly, I wouldn't mind going home. But I do also like to win. I really like to win.

I spend some more time watching TV, decompressing from the day. I almost fell asleep a few times before a surprise vibration from my phone shook me awake. I looked at the screen and saw that it was a text from Madison. Of course.

"I'm at your door," it read.

I quite literally vaulted from the couch right to the foot of the door. Doing away with the lock, I swung open the door and there she was. Madison was dressed similarly to me, though, knowing her, surely cost way more than my whole wardrobe. I invited her inside and we sat together on the couch with the TV still blaring in the background. Though my focus wasn't on that thing anymore, oh no, but to her. She had my complete and total attention that she wholly deserved.

You know, Haley some time ago asked what made me crush on Madison. She wanted to know the specifics. When she first asked that question, I was a little embarrassed to give my reasoning but after some gentle prodding I told her why. You see, before I even first locked eyes with Madison...I had this crush on...Valarie. Yes, yes, I know that her and Emma are together and that they have a long history. Still, that didn't stop me from crushing on her. And hey, to me, crushing on people who are already taken is not weird at all. It's very normal. That's what I tell myself, anyway.

Now, how this crush for Valarie started wasn't long after I first joined. Valarie's passion for the team and toward the sport at large was what smitten me. Her passion emanated from her like a never-ending shock wave that was impossible for anyone to miss or to not appreciate. People who are passionate about anything are way more attractive to me. It's one of those key traits I look for in people. Without passion, I don't think a person can fully be human.

With Madison, I am delighted to share that she is chock-full of passion. She's passionate toward Catalina, to this team, to her friends, and to her family. Family by far is what she's most passionate about. Especially for Valarie. Ever since the two learned they were related, Madison has gone above and beyond to form that sisterly bond that she long coveted and succeeded. Such an infectious passion that I was smitten for her right then and there the moment we met eyes. Oh, and it also helps that she bared a strong resemblance to Valarie. I get to have my cake and eat it too.

Ever since Madison arrived at my apartment, she talked and talked about her day and I was more than happy to just sit back and listen. I learned more about this Andromeda girl. Madison went more in depth about her, and, wow, that girl is something else. To go into her exploits would be a novel unto itself.

During our conversation, I had to excuse myself to head to the bathroom. I must've been gone longer than I thought as when I came back I found Madison reading something. I was at first confused as I didn't remember her arriving with a book in hand. It was only when I took a few steps closer did it click. I recognized what she had in her had as something I wrote. I stood in front of her to get her attention.

"Where did you get that?" I questioned.

Madison set down the notebook all casually like. "It was on the table right in front of me."

I internally groaned hard. I should've put that thing well out of sight. This will be the last time I'll ever be this careless. I totally haven't said this to myself before.

"What is this?" Madison asked me.

I saw this question coming a mile away. "Just...a diary. The kind that are for my eyes only."

Her eyes narrowed as she read some more passages. God, I never felt more embarrassed, nervous, all that stuff.

"This doesn't seem to be like a normal diary to me. Diaries are usually about the writer. This is about many people." My face was the deepest shade of red. Swear to god, I must've looked like a perfect tomato. "This is more like a history," Madison smiled. "A history of the Mojave Rose Tankery Team."

I couldn't help but to give a small grin. "Well...is it good?"

"Good?!" Madison leapt from the couch. "This is great! I learned more about the team in the past five minutes of reading this notebook than I have in the past few months of being you guy's main funder. I'm amazed!"

I think I squealed when I was told all that. But to her, the sound I made likely sounded more like a seal with a busted windpipe. Nonetheless, Madison was filled with joy over making me oh so good.

"When did you start this?"

"About two days after I first joined."

I've always had this habit of regularly writing down the going-ons in my life. It's almost meditative for me. Back at home, I have no less than twenty-five notebooks with every page filled to capacity with my observations. I'm very proud of that and they mean a lot to me. I started a new notebook soon after I joined the team and jotted down what I saw. I'm on my third notebook already, which was what Madison was reading.

"You pretty much write a day-by-day account of the team, don't you?"

I nod with a blush.

"The value of these works...you can't put a price on this."

"Oh, you're just being polite," I respond, my blush getting redder by the second.

"No, I'm being serious. What you're doing is important and respectable."

Those words warmed me better than anything else on a cold day like this. Damn better than a roaring fire. Second only to her love. Any second thoughts I had about cataloging the team's history were wiped away.

Suddenly, Madison had a thoughtful face. "Say, can you help me with something?"

"What, another shell?" I joked.

Her head recoiled back with a laugh. "No, no. It's related to your writing. Can you find the entry for February 16th?"

That date felt very familiar to me when she asked. I left the couch for a moment to fetch an older notebook. I returned and began to flip through it with her. It wasn't long before I found the entry she sought. I gave it to her to read.

February 16th, 2013

On this day, from 8:30AM to 4:47PM, was our match against Valentine some miles out from the city limits of Phoenix. Before the match started, however, I felt this strangeness in the air. No one else seemed to have noticed, not even Haley. Though she told me she took my word on it. I soon found the source of this strangeness coming from Valarie. How to describe it? There's malice. Some kind of new aggression that wasn't there before. I could tell Valarie had some facade, but for what? What is she keeping to herself? It can be anything so it's pointless to speculate, but I am curious nonetheless.

After the match began, my earlier observations were forgotten. They would've likely been discarded entirely once this way was over had not something frightening happen. It occurred past noon. The team were split and occupied two positions at the top of hills that overlooked a large valley. In that valley were some old roads with an abandoned warehouse or depot among them. I didn't give much thought to that building until the enemy arrived and made their approach. We started shooting near them, but not at them. The strategy, what I thought it was, was that we were to shoot near the enemy to force them bunch up, where then, our artillery would slam down right in the middle of them. But that wasn't entirely what Valarie had in mind. Yes, shooting near them to force them together was part of it. And the artillery did indeed have a role. But there was a third factor in play that I was unaware of. That building that I discounted earlier. What happened in the next minute informed everyone the true nature of Valarie's plan.

It started with a great bright flash that followed quickly with enormous fire. A fireball manifested in the spot where that building once stood and had engulfed the enemy below. The explosion rose many feet into the air with the smoke as dark as the night. Even from the distance I was from that hell I could feel the heat and how strong it was. God knows how much worse it was for the girls down below.

When the smoke cleared, most of the tanks down there were eliminated and partly ablaze. Those that weren't drove all clumsily. Their sense of direction was all gone. They drove as if they were deaf, mute, and blind. Clearly those crews were shell shocked and probably didn't even know where they were. Valarie then gave an order. The team drove forward, took aim, and gunned down the stragglers.

When Madison returned the notebook to me after she had finished reading it, she wore this quizzical look on her face. She was like this for a few moments before returning her gaze to me with a smile.

"Thanks for that," she told me. "I've been curious about that match for some time, so it's nice to have the inside scoop."

"What about that match in particular was it curious to you?" I asked.

"Oh, you know...that big explosion. I find that to be incredibly interesting. An aggressive tactic for sure, but hey...if it works."

I found what she told me to be a little suspect. There was a part of me that had this strong feeling that she wasn't telling me the whole story. On the other hand, there was also the other part of me that firmly understood that I did not have the right to know everything. It's rude to pry and all. And if Valarie wants to one day open up and explain what really bothered her that day, that's her choice and hers alone. Since she hasn't said anything though, well, I suppose it wasn't anything major anyway. For all I know, she completely forgot.

Reading that one account did not satiate Madison's appetite for more background knowledge of the Mojave Rose team and I was more than happy to satisfy. It's funny how being blood related to the captain didn't really mean that Madison knew the full in and out of the team. Though, when I thought about it more, it does make some degree of sense. Madison was the bankroller. She made it her responsibility to ensure that the team was well-funded. And boy does she do her job well. Perhaps to an excessive degree. She says that 'just a portion of her allowance' is dedicated to our funding but I feel like there's more to it than that. Either that or her allowance is insane. I can honestly believe that.

Now Valarie has a better understanding of the team. Much more compared to Madison. Though she's no omnipresent entity or anything like that. Being a captain and all meant that most of her attention was focused on strategy, tactics, and the readiness of the team. Things like the mundane day-to-day happenings of the team slip by her. The sort of stuff that other people view as 'boring', I saw as fascinating. A unique history that would otherwise be forgotten when it's all said and done. With foundationally who I am as a person, I just cannot sit back and let it die. It must be recorded, even if only for my satisfaction.

Thankfully, to my pure delight, Madison not only loved what I wrote but also recognized its importance. She hungrily read as much as my writings on the team she could. Hooked on every word. Engrossed in all the details. In delight in the pursuit of learning. Honestly, she may have been the most excited a teenager has even been reading.

It took an hour or so before Madison managed to finish the writings I had on me. During which, she was non-stop with the questions, wanting every last drop of insider information. By the end of it all, she was as satisfied as she was exhausted. I went to another room to get her a soft plush blanket. I knew by then that she intended to spend the night, which I did not mind at all. As she got comfortable, she asked me a question. "You should let Valarie know of the good work you're doing. I bet she'd make you the team historian."

Historian. A title like that gave me goosebumps. There's a respectability and nobleness that comes attached with that. Along with a grand responsibility. Before, I'd never even dared to ask. But now, with Madison's full encouragement, that gave me all the confidence I needed.

"I'll tell her about this at the next meeting." I told her.

Madison then wagged her fingers at me. "First things first. What you're doing is like writing a book. And any good book needs a good title."

I stared at her blankly before nodding in agreement. All the countless hours I've spent writing and editing these journals of the team's history and not once have I ever given even a brief moment toward creating a title. To be fair to me, there were more important things to write down. But hey, I might as well take care of it now. A title such as History of the Mojave Rose Team would be far too basic. I knew I could do better. I at first tried to come up with some desert-related pun but every one I came up with only met with a grimace from Madison. With that dead end, I shifted my thinking into a different direction. I shared with her a suggestion that she seemed to like. After some more work shopping...we got it. A title that we loved.

The Devil's In The Details

Yes, I think that will do quite nicely.