The Hurban sat eerily quiet. The thick fog cover obscured all view save a few metres in each direction. A light drizzle had been falling all day, rat-a-tat-ing against the rough metal of the train. On a day like this, one would usually be resting at home, wrapped in blankets, preferably with a good book, TV show, or movie for company. Or even better, a good fanfiction, listening to the impact of the rain on their windowsill. Perhaps, even with a good cup of tea or other assorted hot beverage. But, alas, for the students of Tatra Girls' Academy, this was not a normal day.
After emerging victorious from a fierce firefight with Vabadusrist High Schools' SR No. 2 train, the once-mighty Hurban, the pride (and also the only train) of Tatra Girls' Academy, was reduced to a mostly-smoking hunk of metal with just two 37mm tank carriages and the locomotive operational. White flags emerged from the smoking remains of two tank carriages and an artillery carriage. However, the worst was yet to come. Its crewwaited in bated breath as they anticipated the crown jewel of Vabadusrist High School, SR No 1 "Kapten Irv".
Packing nearly unrivalled firepower, adequate protection, and good mobility, the Kapten Irv was a machine that even the greatest of the Ressha-do teams feared. Packing its fearsome 4-inch field gun, it could easily destroy any enemy carriage from miles away. On top of that, its two 76mm cannons and 6-pounder chase gun were also formidable assets. But the crew, perhaps, was most impressive. This was the only Ressha-do crew from a smaller school that had surmounted the mightiest obstacles; Pravda and Kuromorimine.
But they knew that they'd made it this far. Neither retreat nor defeat was an option. The train sat at a critical rail junction, just waiting for the Kapten Irv to come into view through the thick fog.
Janosik Masaryk's pale face was soaking wet from sweat that had built up throughout the day. Or maybe the rain. Or both. Her once-unblemished hair was a wet, shrivelled mess. On another day, she would have been ashamed of her sloppy appearance, but now, she frankly didn't care. She was focused on one thing, and one thing only; her 37mm gun. She knew that her comrades counted on her to make the shot count.
Miroslava Caputova, the commander of the Hurban, on the other hand, was positively hyperventilating with anxiety. She checked her binoculars for any sign of the fearsome Estonian train, although one must wonder whether checking one's binoculars in nearly zero visibility was a wise course of action.
Miroslava checked her binoculars again.
And then she checked her watch.
And then her map.
And then her binoculars one more time, for good measure.
Miroslava really liked checking things.
After conducting a very thorough check of her assorted materials, Miroslava cleared her throat, and attempted to make a rousing speech. "We are Tatra's finest train crews! Whatever comes through that fog, we will stand our ground!"
"I'm gonna be honest with you Miro, that's… not exactly working," Janosik bluntly said.
"Come on now, I'm having my moment!"
But even if Miroslava had her moment, which she didn't, it wouldn't have lasted long. Suddenly, the ground shook before them, and an explosion rattled the entire train. Kapten Irv seemingly emerged out of nowhere, and fired off three rounds in quick succession at point-blank range. Miraculously, all three shots missed their mark, even from that short of a range. Not even Kapten Irv's crew could shoot precisely through the thick fog.
"Enemy spotted, 3 o'clock! 200 metres!" yelled Janosik.
"What in the hell are you waiting for then? Open fire!" a furious Miroslava barked.
Ivana, the other operational gunner, fired off a 37mm round with military precision, hitting Kapten Irv's 4-inch artillery carriage dead centre. With all its strengths, the Kapten Irv main weak point was armour, and there was no question that the shell would've gone through like butter. Not to be outdone, Janosik unleashed a shell of her own, scoring a direct hit on one of Kapten Irv's 76mm gun carriages. However, the Kapten Irv just wasn't done yet. As the last 76mm gun slowly trained towards Janosik's carriage…
"Look out, Jan!" yelled Miroslava.
One would question the value of trying to move a slow and large train out of the sights of a gun at point-blank range. Of course, it goes without saying that, alas, it was too late. After the smoke cleared, a white flag had popped out of Janosik's tank carriage. Her carriage had been destroyed, but Janosik had done her job. Now, it was up to Ivana to finish the job and bring glory to Tatra.
"Damn it! No matter, Ivana, finish it! Victory is near!" Miroslava exclaimed.
Ivana, however, was shaking all over. She was just a first-year student, and she had never been placed in such a high-stakes position. She tried to focus on her training, those marksmanship drills that Miroslava had forced her to do a thousand times. No matter, she thought. I aim, I shoot, I destroy. Just like every other time I've shot this damned gun. So she aimed, she shot, and…
Unfortunately, she did not destroy.
The next day…
Svetlana Hacha, the president of Tatra's Student Council, retreated into her cramped, uncomfortable cabin in the SMS Tatra, exhausted, defeated. She hadn't even eaten anything since the beginning of the day. Whenever it was the beginning of the day, she didn't know, as she had stayed up the entire night working. Her blonde hair was shrivelled and grimy, and the condition of her white uniform was nothing short of lamentable. Any pleasant facial features she may or may not have had was utterly swept under the table by her dishevelled appearance. The state of her room was even more pitiful. Stacks of papers, some crumpled up, sat on the table. Or, rather, a few of the papers sat on the table. The rest had disappeared into the black hole of her room, mixed with socks, bedsheets, and books. Her clothes were thrown about everywhere, on the bed, on the table, on the ground, in the bathroom. If only Mother could see me now. She chuckled lightly to herself.
Svetlana sighed. I'm only a first-year, she thought. I shouldn't have to deal with this crap. She'd learned about Tatra's defeat last night, and just to add salt to the wounds, an hour ago, she'd just gotten off a meeting with the particularly stern school principal, who had given her the news. And then she'd have to tell Miroslava as well-
There were four knocks at the door. Speak of the devil.
"Hey, Svetlana. You asked for me?" Miroslava said. Even she was taken aback by Svetlana's appearance. "Hey, are you alright? Do you feel well?"
"Thank you, Miro. I'm fine. I heard the news about your loss last night." She tried to ease the impact of the news. "And even though you lost, I can assure you, the school population is, and always will be, proud of your valiant effort." Oh, who am I kidding, I'm stalling.
"Uh oh. I might be a year your senior, Svetlana, but I can see that something's wrong. Spit it out, will you?"
"Look, there is some news I need to share with you. I've just gotten off a meeting with the principal, and…"
"And?"
"And… in light of recent events, they have decided to permanently suspend our Ressha-do team."
"They have decided to what?"
Two years later…
Your school needs YOU! Join our esteemed Ressha-do team! Compete against other schools! Learn valuable new skills! Bring glory and victory to your school!
Above the large bolded text was a picture of the Hurban, guns blazing. Or, rather, what the Hurban once was, before the dark times. Before the closing of the team.
The front gate of Tatra Girls' Academy that morning was bustling, as usual. Girls were arriving, being checked off by the hall monitors right before they entered the main school building. Groups of girls periodically arrived and entered the building, some chatty and noisy, some quiet and reserved. Others arrived alone. None of them paid any attention to Janosik and Svetlana.
"You think this'll work?" asked Janosik, putting up the recruitment poster on the front gate.
"I don't know, Jan. But we have to at least try. Ressha-do is all we have. Our efforts to expand to other sports failed miserably last year," Svetlana said.
"I know. But defying the school administration… isn't that a step too far?"
"On the contrary, it's what we have to do. As for the school administration, let me handle that, Jan. Your job is to rebuild our team. We can't afford to lose again."
Janosik had little idea how literal Svetlana was with that statement.
Several hours later, SMS Tatra's administration room
"So let me get this straight. You were going to restart our Ressha-do team behind our backs, without authorization from the school administration, without the school board's knowledge?" the principal asked furiously.
The principal's office was even more cramped and uncomfortable than Svetlana's. He prided himself on being a simple man, only having a small wooden table with a lamp, a chair, a futon, and a cupboard full of neatly-folded clothes. He had been a lowly teacher in Tatra when the first national Ressha-do competition was held. His own daughter was one of the pioneers of Ressha-do in Tatra. He'd seen what it was truly like. He'd seen, first hand, the accidents. The damage it could cause. The pain it could bring. To himself, his family, and no doubt, countless other families as well. He'd made it his life's work to shut down the Ressha-do program, at least just in Tatra. He'd finally succeeded in saving the school from the godforsaken sport, and he was not going to see it undone by some upstart first-year Student Council president.
"Sir, if you'll allow me, I can-" Svetlana stammered.
"Do you know that I can dismiss you from your position at any time I'd like? You know that if I want, I have the authority to downgrade your arse to spending your days cleaning bathrooms with toothbrushes every day? I swear, Miss Hacha, by the time you reach your third year, no one in this entire school will have even heard of your name. And I would have every reason to dismiss you right here, right now. In fact, I would be obligated to."
"I'm aware of that, sir. But I have no choice but to restart it."
"You have no choice? I'm gonna tell you what you have no choice but to do if you want to keep yourself in that seat of yours. You will take down your posters. You will tell that girl Ms. Masar-whatever to shut down whatever recruitment operation she's running. This ends now. Is that understood, young woman?"
"Sir, I assure you, you will understand my course of action once you realise what exactly is at stake here." Svetlana tossed the man several photographs.
"These look like some sort of room on a ship, and practically decaying rooms at that? What do photos of a random room have to do with any of this? Now, Miss Hacha, I'm going to tell you one last time-"
Svetlana pointed to a sign on one of the photographs.
S.M.S TATRA
The old principal's face shifted completely. "It can't be. Is this… our ship?"
"Indeed it is." She showed him the first photograph. "This is our boiler room. It is eight years overdue for servicing." She showed him another one. "And this is our engine room. Ten years overdue for servicing. A few days ago, I had a conversation with the Lead Engineer. She expects that we only have about one, or at most, two, more years until…"
"Until?"
"Until something fails. We need an injection of funds, fast, to repair this ship within, at the latest, the next school year. Problem is, sir, and you are fully aware of this problem as well, we have no money."
The mood of the room shifted significantly. The old principal sat, shocked for about a minute. He had been with the school his entire life. To him, Tatra was his life, and he knew that allowing it to crumble was not an option. Not under his watch.
"And Ressha-do would be our only viable course of action?"
"It is our only choice, sir. I did what had to be done. The prize money from winning a national Ressha-do championship would be enough to, at least, repair the most critical elements of the ship."
"What about other sports?"
"With all due respect, sir, how did that turn out last year? Only one team, our canoeing team, didn't even make it past the first round."
The principal knew it was over. He knew that it was a choice between restarting the Ressha-do team, or the implosion of the school. He knew what had to be done, even if it violated his personal convictions and everything he ever stood for. As he watched the last of his life's work fall into pieces, he sighed.
"Good luck, Madam President. Your school is counting on you. Now get out."
Svetlana grinned.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch…
After a very, very long walk, Janosik finally arrived at the train depot. God, I almost forgot how arduous this was. She was exhausted, but she had a job to do, and she wasn't going to quit until she did it. She took a deep breath, opened the gate, and she saw it.
The Hurban.
Or, rather, the tattered remains of a train that vaguely resembled the Hurban. Itwas abandoned as soon as the Ressha-do team returned, having neither the funds nor the parts to patch any of it up. Janosik performed a quick inspection. Only the locomotive resembled anything like it once was, as only it was repaired for the journey back onto the ship. Much of the paint was starting to peel off, revealing a thick coat of orange-brown rust underneath.
This thing has definitely seen better days, eh? Janosik chuckled to herself. Of course, she couldn't exactly hide her despair at the state of the train. So much for the pride of Tatra. She knew that it'd take some serious work to patch this up. But, at least there was something she could work with. And anyways, there are more important problems to worry about.
Like the crew.
Would anyone even come? Over the last year, apathy over the Ressha-do championship had risen sharply. She didn't even know anyone who watched the final match between St. Gloriana and Pravda. And this morning, no one paid any attention to the poster that she and Svetlana had put up. The poster had said to arrive at 4 pm, and it was 3:50 already.
Perhaps they just don't know where the depot is?
She checked her watch.
She checked it again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Miro's checking obsession must've spread to me.
Of course, time doesn't go any faster if one checks their watch over and over again. In fact, time may seem to go slower. Indeed, Janosik felt the seconds passing by, and by the fifth time she had checked her watch, only two minutes had passed.
But at long last, a group of four girls approached the train depot.
"Hey, are you Janosik? The girl who put up that poster?" One of the girls called out, clearly the chattiest out of them all.
"Uh, yeah! Are you here for Ressha-do?" Janosik asked.
"Indeed we are! Anyways, are we late?"
"No, you're not late at all. By the way, you can just call me Jan."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jan! My name is Dominika, I'm a second-year student. These are Milada, Cecilia, and Marta!
The tallest girl, apparently Dominika, was one of the most famous athletes in Tatra. And one of the only athletes in Tatra. Her short brown hair was tied up very neatly, her clothes were nearly dry, in contrast to the other girls, whose clothes were about as wet as the British summer. She looked virtually unfazed by the long run. However, that, of course, was to be expected, as she had been the captain of the track team last year.
If three people qualified as a "team", that is.
Milada, Cecilia, and Marta were all fairly short girls, being towered over by the robust and athletic Dominika. Milada and Cicilia, were both blonde, wore small, square glasses, and had pleasant facial features. At first glance, one may think that they're sisters. They were very smart girls, but when it came to history, they knew about as much as a bag of wet sand.
Marta, on the other hand, did know quite a bit about history, but she was an engineer at heart. Quiet and reserved, she never really was a people person. She'd only met those three in a class project, and frankly, she was a little sick of them. She was short. Very short. At one point, she had been denied entry to a 7+ theme park ride.
She was fifteen.
"I made them run here, so they might be a little tired." continued Dominika.
Dominika, apparently, was also a fan of understatements. Milada, Cecilia, and Marta were all panting for dear life. Marta was on the floor.
"Oh, stop it, you crybabies. It was only a couple hundred metres!"
"It was 3 kilometres, you witch!" snapped Cecilia, finally managing to regain her breath.
"If we're gonna have to run five kilometres every day to practice, consider me out!" Milada added.
"Come on, the run will be fun! And I promise, it'll get less tiring as time goes on," said Dominika.
Before the annoyed and exhausted trio could respond with a nasty comment, in came another group, this time six girls, along with Svetlana.
"Madam President?" exclaimed Dominika. She made a movement that resembled a bow, but also proceeded to kneel and salute at the same time, apparently confused on which was appropriate for such an occasion.
Svetlana was slightly taken aback by Dominika's display of reference. "Please, just Svetlana is fine. Anyways, I found these six first-year girls on my way here. Apparently, they were lost, so I figured that they were trying to make their way here."
They exchanged hellos, nods and waves with Janosik and the second-year girls.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable. So, including you all, it would work out to eleven students." Janosik noted. Eleven would not be enough to win even one match, much less the entire tournament.
"So, is this everyone? Great, let's get onto business!" declared Svetlana.
"Not everyone." a voice rang out outside the gates.
"Ivana?"
A/N: Hello there! I'm glad you could make it to the end of the chapter!
So I feel like, as I have a fairly out-there concept that needs a lot of explanation that can't be delivered in-universe, then I'll have to resort to fairly long ANs to explain a few things that I can't necessarily fit in-universe.
So, in this universe, Ressha-do is a sport, similar to Sensha-do, that utilises armoured trains instead of tanks. Please do keep in mind that Sensha-do willstill exist in this universe. Just not yet. This is meant as a prequel, and an alternate history.
Anyways, quick sum up. The protagonist school, Tatra* (which represents Slovakia, or specifically the Slovak National Uprising), loses a Ressha-do match to Vabadusrist** (which represents Estonia). The school disbands the Ressha-do team, however, after a year, financial problems force the president of the Student Council to restart the club, and the story begins with the protagonists starting the process of rebuilding the club.
As for what I am planning to do with this story, it is fairly limited, for now. As of February 2022, I am planning twelve chapters (including the epilogue and appendix, so 10 main chapters and 2 extras). I'll try to release a new chapter between one and two weeks after the last chapter is released, so theoretically I will release Chapter 12, at the latest, in six months. I'm only planning 12 chapters for now, but rest assured that I have plenty of options planned if I want to do more of these.
Anyways, I am fairly new to fiction writing, so any criticism (or reviews in general, really) would be welcomed and appreciated. Other than that, I shall see you whenever I see you next! Goodbye, and thanks for stopping by!
*Tatra is named after a mountain range in Slovakia. It's mentioned in the Slovak national anthem.
**Vabadusrist is named after an Estonian military medal (the Cross of Liberty).
