Chapter 2: Prelude to the Storm

St. Gloriana Girls College Tankery "War Room"

Oxford, Oxfordshire, England, UK

1030 Hours (10:30 a.m.)

Every eye in the room remained locked on what they were seeing on the screen: the latest interview with the French BC Freedom Girls Academy, which had humiliated St. Gloriana two years before. Many of the commanders remembered the bitter and stinging loss, their return to England during a bitter and rainswept day seen as a sign at how far the English school had fallen.

The French were quick to crow about their victory, with the school running over the St. Gloriana standard in their tanks as they paraded through the streets of Paris like conquering heroes. Even now, the new French commander was quick to remind the viewers about it:

"They couldn't even maintain a semblance of order and attack us properly. If they are anything like they were last year, the victory that we'll have in the exhibition match should be done before their precious tea grows cold," the girl remarked with a hearty laugh by both her and the reporter, "And firmly show that Britain has lost her backbone."

As the last words of that statement echoed in the room, Olivia's face reddened, with the girl looking ready to break the screen and shout a few choice words for the Frenchwoman. However, Shirley was there to put a hand on her shoulder, removing some of the steam from the boiling teapot Olivia had become.

Taking a deep breath, Olivia turned to face the room filled with veteran commanders who were equally as stung by the words of the French. With words clearly aimed to try to bring down and humiliate the veteran commanders, the girl had clearly failed in doing so. Instead, something else was now filling those in the room: a burning desire for revenge. And it was a desire that Olivia was all too happy to fill.

"So, how do you think we should go at the French girls this year, because an assault like last time will make her prediction come true," Olivia finally remarked, with a shrug coming from at least one or two of the commanders, before the commander of the Churchill VII finally spoke up, with Olivia grateful that she could at least understand her.

"I say that, depending on the terrain, we bait them into thinking we'll use the same tactics that we did last year," the girl replied, "With our Crusader tanks as the bait. Assuming the French brat is as cocky as she acts, they'll fall for it," With Olivia nodding and liking much of what she had to hear.

"However," Olivia added, "That would leave us with less tanks to combat them. What I'd like to do is use the Crusaders like scouts, and if the French do fire on them, it'll give us a good idea as to what their composition is for the match." The Crusader commanders looked to each other, wanting to object, with the hanging silence in the air showing that they were willing to see if this would work.

"Glad there are no objections to this plan. As for what we'll do when the do attack us, we'll do what previous St. Gloriana teams did best at: dig in, and make them pay for every yard they try to gain in iron and blood," her tone as she spoke one of confidence, and easily cutting through the air of tension that had developed in the room for the briefest of moments.

"The gauntlet has been thrown, ladies," Olivia barked, "Time to get to work." As the statement finally settled in the room, the commanders all filed out quickly to gather up their crews. With the cracking of her hands, Olivia soon followed suit, knowing full well that the statement pertained not just to them, but also to herself as well.

The preparation for the exhibition match went on for several days, with Olivia at times becoming an unrelenting taskmaster, wanting the team to act like a well-oiled machine. And at the end of those several days-which seemed to blur together at a few points-the team seemed to act like the well oiled machine that the auburn haired girl desired.

However, she knew that all the training and cohesion might crumble the moment French shells started hitting their steel beasts. With the match day drawing ever nearer, Olivia sincerely hoped that fortune would smile on them once more.

ITA Designated Match Site

Near Caen, France, Normandy Region

1000 Hours (10:00 A.M.)

Match day

Despite numerous proclamations by the ITA and various world news sources, the air around the match had all the trappings of a tournament fight. The fact that it was on French soil wouldn't help the English tankers, as home-field advantage was clearly in favor of BC Freedom, with a few of the French girls hailing from this area of the country. However, with the match being in the region closest to England, ferries from ports along the Channel were laden with Englishmen and women to see who would win in this version of their age old rivalry.

For Olivia, she saw more of the stark irony of where the match was being held, with the familiar and imposing medieval spires of Caen looming in the distance as if to remind the English tankers of their forebears follies during WWII. The rumble of Meteors, Liberty and Bedford engines echoed over the stark and empty fields around them as the tanks of St. Gloriana made their way to the site, trundling down a path through fields that once echoed with the sounds of screams and gunfire three-quarters of a century earlier

Steeling herself for the match ahead, Olivia took a deep breath, finding it hard to dispel the mounting pressure that she was now feeling. A little while later, the British tankers finally met their French counterparts, the hulks of the French ARL-44s staring back at them with their menacing 90mm guns.

Coming to a halt with a complaint of their brakes, the English tanks sat lined up, with Olivia and Shirley hopping out of their respective vehicles to meet their French counterparts. The two had trouble hiding smirks at the sight of the French uniforms, who were replete with kepis and shoulder capes. In the meantime, the English looked rather smart in their splendid red uniforms, which stood in contrast to their motley assortment of tanks.

The leaders then met in the middle, the two school commanders sizing each other up like prizefighters before a bout as the judge looked on to the two groups.

"Do you plan on making this easy for me, you tea-swigging English loser?" the French girl quipped, the growing smirk on her face only adding to the impression that she felt quite confident in her victory.

"I hate to disappoint ya, you smug Frog," Olivia retorted back, "But this isn't the same team you fought last time. Why don't you save yourself the trouble and send your museum pieces to Saumur before we humiliate you," adding "Don't worry, we won't maul your petit Renault that badly," before the French girl could come up with a suitable reply, the grin on the Brits only serving to make the French commander's expression turn from smug to positively irate.

"We shall see who is the smug one at the end of this match!" The French girl shot back, to which Olivia merely replied, "Of that we can agree on, Frenchie," the statement hanging in the air as the judge finally decided to speak up, only adding to the tension.

"Following the rules set by the ITA, this exhibition match between BC Freedom and St. Gloriana Girls College is to be an Annihilation battle, with the winner being the one with the most operational tanks remaining on the field," the judge announced, their eyes glancing briefly to each team before continuing, "With both teams now understanding the rules of the match, may the two commanders now shake hands before going to their starting positions."

Olivia and the French girl then shook hands, with the former gripping the latter's hand in a brief but vice-like grip, with the judge finishing by saying, "The match will start when the signal flare goes up. Is that understood?" The two groups of girls nodding to say that they indeed got the message. "Now, go to your tanks and wait for the signal. May the best team win."

As the four girls headed to their respective tanks, they responded to the final statement in their respective languages: "Don't worry, we intend to," with Olivia glad the French girl couldn't see her face as the pressure the Scottish girl felt once again became palpable to her.

As Olivia marched to her tank, she gave the signal for her crews to get into her vehicles, the girls responding with a speed that would have impressed the likes of their forebears as they squeezed into their steel beasts, the roars of English tank engines echoing over the plain, with the French engines responding in kind as the two teams went to go into their pre-planned positions. After a while the two teams were very much ready for a fight.

The commanders of each team now waited, with Olivia's binoculars seemingly glued to her eyes as she waited for the flare to appear. It didn't take long for it to do so, a harsh glare illuminating the Norman sky, making the auburn haired girl immediately drop down into the driver's seat and batten down the hatches. She then grabbed the radio, the device crackling to life as she got ready to give the fateful orders to the crews.

After many minutes of wrangling them all together into a defensive line that would have impressed even the old Duke of Wellington, Olivia peered out of the hatch of her Centaur tank, binoculars and eyes glued to the sky as she waited for the fateful signal to start the fight. Not long after she popped out of her hatch did a familiar glow pop up in the sky, lazily starting its fall to the Earth. Grabbing the radio once more, the auburn haired girl then spoke to the girls in a tone that didn't betray her nerves: "Alright ladies...let's show these frogs what we're made of."

Time seemed to slow ever so slightly as the realization set in: no more rehearsals, no more practice, and little room for error.
Now the battle truly had begun.