The flight line was clear for the day, as Corsair High sailed along the coast. The sun was headed toward sunset, and Bastian leaned on the railing of the observation platform overlooking the flight line. Short dark hair ruffled as the wind came across, his flight officer's cap held in his hands. Turning it over and over, slowly, his hazel eyes scanned it as if looking for something – though it was more out of habit than anything else.

Eight months earlier, the Corsair Aerial Combat Team, or Team Corsair, had cinched the victory over Dresden and taken the Fifth Annual Aerial Combat Tournament's final victory. It had been an upset, but the Corsairs had earned it for sure. It was still something that brought him pride, but thinking about it also brought him sadness – even bitterness at times. The victory would be forever tainted by the fact that he could never participate in another tournament, and his best friend had hung up his title of Squadron Leader so that they could still work together.

Of course, their new positions as Flight Instructors did come with the benefit of a promotion – Matthias to Major, and Bastian himself to Captain. This of course meant that they were still the superior officers to the rest of the team, even if they were no longer going into combat. Still, a promotion wasn't the same as combat – something that Bastian yearned for. Sure, the training aircraft were the real ones, and for simple flying he actually did prefer them, but combat was in his blood. Without it, he didn't really know what he was going to do with himself.

Glancing to the side as he heard the bulkhead door to the bridge open, he saw Matthias step through. Just like always, the emerald-eyed blond was dressed in his long coat, flight uniform, and flight officer's cap – the cap tilted just slightly back and to the side while not on duty.

"I thought I'd find you here." Matthias said as he stepped over to the railing beside his friend, resting his hands on it. "Not wearing your uniform today?"

Bastian sighed, glancing at the dress uniform that he wore. It was an officer's uniform, and he still wore his long coat, but that obviously wasn't what Matthias meant. "Just wasn't feeling like it today."

"You sure look glum." The blond returned, leaning more on the railing beside his friend, "What's the matter? I mean... besides the obvious."

The former fighter pilot shrugged. "I don't know... I guess I just don't feel right. Sure, yeah, I still get to fly, and I get to make sure the newbies know what they're doing, but... Something is missing."

"The adrenaline, you mean?"

"Yeah... how'd you know?"

"I haven't been in combat, either, remember?" Matt chuckled, giving a playful punch to Bastian's shoulder. "Don't forget, I'm over here suffering too."

Bastian just smirked at him. "Yeah, but you get to hang it over my head."

"Oh, I've only done that a couple times." Matt grinned.

Bastian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Still doesn't make it fair."

"Pirate."

Bastian laughed. "Pirate? Please. If you were a girl, they'd shove you off to St. Gloriana."

"If I was a girl and they did that, I'd quickly become a lesbian."

Now they both laughed.

After a moment, the two let out a breath, gazing out across the water. Bastian spoke.

"Y'know, I kinda wonder something."

"What?" Matthias asked, glancing toward him.

"Is Tankery a girls-only sport?" Bastian said, still looking out across the waves.

Matthias turned his head completely to look at him. "And just exactly why are you wondering that?"

Bastian shrugged a bit, but a tiny grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Just curious."

"I know that look... you have an idea, don't you?"

"Don't worry, Matt." Bastian said as he turned, heading for the door. "It's not too crazy."

==X==X==X==

Three hours later, Bastian sat in the Commandant of Cadets' office. Said Commandant also happened to be his Uncle, and one of the most wealthy men on the planet. Blitz Freiherr von Krieg owned Krieg Incorporated, a company that had subsidiaries in so many different kinds of business that few people knew just exactly the extent of its reach. Trillions of dollars poured into the company's coffers annually, and billions went into accounts in the Cayman Islands and Switzerland. Untraceable billions of dollars.

Despite the massive corporation and the locations that the money was deposited, the business practices were straightforward, fair, and above board. Blitz had fought long and hard to keep the company legitimate and respectable, and for that he had be rewarded with contracts from all over the globe. Of course, the impressive technology at the company's disposal – of which, the virtual reality pods and systems used by the annual Aerial Combat Tournament were only one example – also aided the company's impressive reputation.

The fact that Bastian had been injured had been both a nightmare and a blessing. It had been a nightmare for Blitz because he'd designed the system himself, wrote every bit of coding and checked it multiple times. Bastian, not being a slouch, had often helped check the coding as well, but Blitz still felt responsible for what happened to his nephew. It had been a blessing, however, for the free – and sympathetic – PR that the company had gotten.

Still, the request that had come from his nephew was one that Blitz had thought strange at first. He had wanted to know if Tankery, what was also known as Sensha-do, was female gender-specific. That is, could only females participate? After about half an hour of back and forth about why Bastian wanted to know – getting nowhere during that period of time, though having a feeling he knew why – Blitz had set to work. Since then, his studies on the subject had finally reached a conclusion.

"Simply put, the answer is no." Blitz finally said, his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. "I can't find anything that says Tankery is restricted in terms of gender. Era of vehicle, ammunition type, safety modifications for vehicles, etc. is mentioned... but nothing says only girls can participate." The Commandant himself was a handsome man who appeared to be in his late twenties, with dark hair and hazel eyes, much like his late sister's son. He also wore a similar uniform, but with different ranking.

"So then why is it that it is treated like a girl's sport?" Bastian asked, seated on the other side of Blitz's desk. "If either gender can participate, why do only girls do it?"

Blitz chuckled. "The long and short of it? It was directed more toward girls. Boys have all kinds of sports that they can, and are even expected, to play. Girls... not so much." He shrugged, "If you really stop and think about it, girls have their own leagues in similar sports. Soccer and basketball for example – there's really no reason they couldn't play those sports with the boys, but they're kept separate anyway. So... a rough and tumble sport like Tankery, in a way, makes sense to be targeted toward girls. To some extent, it gave girls an excuse to play soldier like the boys used to do as kids."

"So... why don't boys participate?"

"Ah! See, now that's an entirely different question – but it has a similar root. You see, being directed toward girls meant people initially saw it as a girl's sport. With that mindset, boys didn't want to participate. They stuck to their sports, and the girls got Tankery. To top that off, no boy's school has yet formed a Tankery team because of the perception of it being a feminine sport – which, really, is kind of funny if you stop and think about how the tanks used in the sport originated."

"True that..." Bastian nodded a bit. "So... what if a boy's school wanted to form a team? What would the process be?"

"Pretty simple, really. They would have to have at least five armored vehicles before the beginning of the tournament, enough personnel to crew them, and an official request to participate in the tournament filed with the committee. Why?" Blitz asked, quirking a brow at his nephew, "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking, Nephew?"

"If you think that I'm thinking about Corsair High forming its own Tankery team, then yes Uncle, I'm thinking what you think I'm thinking." Bastian grinned, "And you just confirmed that we can do it."

Blitz sighed, sitting back in his chair. "Bastian... do you realize the costs involved in that? We don't have any tanks. And the ones that are out there are either owned by a team already, are part of a private collection, or are museum pieces. Most teams aren't willing to sell, and the collectors and museums don't really keep the tanks in good condition. They look nice on the outside, but half the time they're really just sitting there rusting away."

"How much does it usually cost?"

"Tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of dollars. Depending on how rare, and the condition, some go for over a million. Parts are a nightmare." Blitz shook his head, "A new Tankery team is something that requires a lot of backing, Bastian."

"I had a feeling." Bastian smirked a bit, "Good thing we have hundreds of billions in personal accounts in the Caymans and Switzerland, isn't it?"

Blitz gave him a flat look. "You want to spend personal money on this? Really?"

"Why not? I know you only give the school a certain budget. Why not use our own money?"

"Because there's no reason to, Bastian. We just bought twelve Bf-109Gs and four Fw-190A8s to use as training aircraft for this year's tournament. That was the entire budget. Just to keep our Aerial Combat Team going we're going to have to cut spending in a couple of areas."

"Or... tap into personal funds."

"Bastian..."

"Uncle!" Bastian finally snapped, "Quit with the penny pinching! Now is not the time to be stingy!"

Blitz stared for a moment, then tilted his head slightly and regarded his nephew for a moment. "Bastian... is there something more to this?"

Bastian swallowed thickly, averting his eyes as he answered. "No... why?"

"Because you never would have brought this up if you could still fly." Blitz said as he sat up in his chair, resting his arms on the desk. "I know you, boy. You're a pilot through and through, not some tanker. You soar through the sky on metal wings, not plod along the ground on tracks. So tell me, what has gotten into you?"

The boy was quiet for a moment, looking down at his boots. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair and looked up. "I want to matter again, Uncle. I... I want to be someone. Do something worthwhile. I can't fly anymore, not in combat anyway. I feel like I've lost who I am. Maybe with this... just maybe... I can get that piece of myself back."

Blitz nodded slightly, knowing that all the things he could possibly say wouldn't matter. Comfort wasn't what the boy was asking for. It wasn't what he needed. He needed to be out there again. He needed the thrill, the action, and the challenge of it all. The two of them weren't so different. Finally, he blew out a breath. "Okay."

Bastian looked at him and blinked. "What?"

"Okay." Blitz smiled, "We'll do it. Or... we'll try."

"Really?!"

"You bet – I'll start on the paperwork. You... well, you'll be team captain since you brought this to me – and that comes with a promotion." Blitz smirked a little, "Same rank, really, but since air forces skip a lower rank, their officer ranks are actually one below regular army ranks. You'll still be a Captain, but you'll be on par with Matthias' Major ranking. Your part of this, however, will be getting a team gathered. Remember, we'll have to have at least five vehicles, and enough to crew them all properly. That responsibility falls on you. The tanks, and the personnel. Just get a requisition form filled out each time you have a specific tank in mind, and I'll see that things get taken care of. Sound good?"

"Yes sir! Thank you, sir!"

"Good. You're dismissed, Captain."