A/N:

Hello readers! I would to first mention that I made an error with the dates which I had now corrected. So, if you notice any "discrepancy', that is why and it's fixed now.

One more thing: If you haven't noticed, FFN has introduced a feature some time ago where e-mail alerts for fanfiction updates are defaulted to "Opt-OUT". I ask you to go to your settings and make sure your e-mail alert is set to "Opt-In". Do so to make sure you get alerted to all the good fics you're following!

Without further ado...Chapter 91!

We hit 600k words with this...damn!


Tuesday October 8th, 2013

Catalina's Schoolship

It was just before the crack of dawn, and Madison was already up and at it. The young woman wanted to get ready for the day at her leisure. This day, though only just starting, was already shaping up to be an interesting one. For today, a test was due to be conducted. A test of temperature. The Mojave Rose team was in need of good cold weather gear for their upcoming match as the locale was a frigid polarscape. The team was gonna need every bit of help that could be mustered to stave off the cold and make sure their minds were focused and on task. For Madison's part, she needed to prepare such an outfit. If it worked, she could order more of the apparel in bulk for the team.

On this morning, she was doing just that. Once she got her own clothes sorted, she dug deep into her enormous wardrobe and picked out the clothing that was needed. The first that came out was a pair of good thermal underwear. Good and soft, they served as an excellent foundation for cold weather protection. She placed them in a duffel bag and resumed looking. What she got out next was the jacket. This article of clothing was a WW1-era U.S. Army-issued Mackinaw jacket. Made of wool and nearly a century old, the jacket was among Madison's treasured possession and has worn it for ages.

Aside from Alice, anyone who knew Madison for years would find that odd. Out of character, even. Madison was widely known among her peers as a girl who continuously updated her look and kept up with the latest fashion trends. Rarely, if ever, would she keep any clothing for a prolonged period, no more than a month. And yet, this piece of old, scratchy wool has been with her almost as long as she has been alive. They were a family heirloom. It was first issued to her great-grandfather, who served during the First World War as part of the American Expeditionary Force. The jacket was then passed on to her grandfather, who saw action in the Second World War. Both men were in the Army, so when Madison's father came around, he bucked the trend and went with the Navy.

Nonetheless, the jacket went to him; now, it was with Madison. To her, it was more than a well-worn uniform. It was part of the family. It had been a part of her life for so many years, and now, it would go to Valarie on this day. It was hard for Madison not to have her heartstrings tugged as she gazed upon the jacket. She knew then and there that it would be an emotional experience when her sister first dons the uniform.

As she was just about to finish storing all the needed clothing in the duffel bag, there was a knock at her dorm door. Her curiosity grew as she wondered who was awake at such an early hour. Looking through the peephole to see who it could possibly is, and when she did so, her eyes widened at a record pace, and she flung the door open just as fast.

"Oh! Viola!" Madison sputtered. To say that she was caught off guard was an understatement. "Uh, good morning. What can I do for you?"

Viola, like Madison, was also already dressed for school. Very ready, in fact. She had her bag and everything even though school wasn't for another two hours. "Good morning," Viola greeted. Her English was definitely getting better. "I'm here as I need some help."

"Help?" Madison was all the more curious. "I'm more than happy to assist you in anything."

"Good," Viola's face relayed her satisfaction. "The help I require is a simple task, I hope. It relates to the Halloween celebrations coming later this month. I must admit," her face got all childlike. "I am very excited about it. I have never done anything like it before."

"I take Halloween isn't a big event in Germany,"

"It's…around. But it's not some all-powerful phenomenon. Some people don't have the strongest feelings about it. Take my parents, for example. They have little love for the holiday. But me?" Viola's smile was the biggest Madison had ever seen. "This is what I have been waiting for all year. One of the reasons why I transferred to an American school in the first place."

"Rest assured, this school does Halloween well. We go all out! You won't be disappointed, I can guarantee that. Now, what kind of help do you need?"

"I am working on a costume close to completion but lacks the most vital component, a face mask."

"What's your costume?" Madison asked.

Viola was more than happy to answer such a question. "A costume that more than suits me, one of a king. That of Baldwin the Fourth of Jerusalem, the Leper King!"

"Oh, that sounds very cool!" Madison complimented. She had the vaguest of vague memories of that name. "It does indeed suit you. I take you to have some interest in history?"

"My dear Miss Force, I am simply enamored by the history of the Crusades. I'm something of an amateur scholar in the subject. Read a good deal of literature concerning it and watched every movie known to humanity, even remotely connected to it. Oh, the evenings I've burned watching great classics like Saladin, El Cid, and Robin and Marian. Movies such as those and Westerns I simply cannot get enough of."

"Ooh, so fascinating," Madison said with some awe. The mention of movies certainly perked her interest now. "So, a mask, you say? Well, that's not the most unusual request I've ever seen."

"Yes, and I want it to be a fine mask. An exquisite specimen composed of pure silver."

Madison hummed in thought. "…Still not the most outlandish thing."

"Who do we approach for this?"

"Oh, I know precisely who," Madison said. "The school has students proficient in metalsmithing. The things they've made over the years are nothing short of impressive. A metal face mask will be child's play for them."

"That would make me very happy."

Madison honed on the word 'happy'. Pleasing Viola has always been a priority for her, as the ramifications of doing so can potentially have tremendous ripple effects. For a while now, Madison had been looking for some way to persuade Catalina's administration to foot some of the bill for the upkeep of the Mojave Rose team. Currently, Catalina has both permitted the team to travel on the ship and allowed team members to be official students in the school. Tuition, expensive tuition at that, was something the team didn't pay for. It was waived by the school. Madison knew full well that such a decision didn't come lightly. It was uncommon for the higher-ups to do such things, and often it was only for students of extraordinary ability. They didn't fully understand tankery but did know that hosting a team in a well-known international competition would give them some serious bragging rights. That was the prime reason why Mojave Rose was here at all.

Now, the administration adored Viola. To have genuine royalty among the student body thrilled them to no end. Perhaps, Madison wondered, if she made it clear to them that Viola was delighted to be here, then it might be possible to convince them to cover some of the team's expenses. She could really use the help as, thus far, her allowance has been footing the bill. Madison had a legendarily massive allowance, this was no secret to anyone, but even that could barely keep up with the demands of a tankery team. The monetary needs of the team were akin to an insatiable monster. It just eats, eats, and eats.

"I shall take you to the metalsmiths this Friday after school."

A wave of disappointment washed over Viola. "Why so long? Why can't we see them today?"

"They're in the middle of a project which has stolen all of their time," Madison explained. "There's no point in going right now. They'll refuse to see us until it's all over. They're a curious bunch but, again, talented like no other."

Viola turned to look at the ground for a few moments before gently nodding. "Very well. Friday. I look forward to meeting the metalmakers."

"We'll have fun, for sure!"

The two girls said their goodbyes, and Madison closed the door. From her came a happy sigh. She returned to packing that duffel bag, whistling a charming tune as she did. This week was getting more interesting by the day.


Midday

"Skipping lunch for one day was bad enough, but twice in a row?" moaned Ray. He placed a hand on his stomach. "I'm starting to get a little emaciated here."

"Oooh, big vocab word there. This school is being good to you. I just know it." Marielle quipped.

"This school is being good to all of us."

"True enough. I sure do know every word to describe 'rich'."

"And the cafeteria food here is pretty damn good. You gotta agree to that."

Marielle nodded slightly. "It's tasty, yeah. But I noticed they've never served some hot dogs. Not even once since we came here."

Hums of satisfaction came from Ray. "I would love a good hot dog right now. Some mayo on the bun is all you need."

"Hot dog and mayo?" Marielle hummed with eagerness. "You're speaking my language."

"I would hope so. We're both Hispanic."

Footsteps from around the corner grabbed their attention. The usual trio of Valarie, Emma, and Madison emerged from it, the latter toting a bulky duffel bag. For Valarie, she was kitted out in her uniform, ready for what was coming.

"Oh, good, you're already here," Madison said to both Marielle and Ray. "Well, what do you think of it?"

Madison gestured proudly to the building they were all before. It was the home of Catalina's culinary department, among the biggest in the whole campus. Its enormity was only matched by its magnanimity that reverberated from its architecture. The building's style was a heartfelt homage to Parisian restaurants. It was two stories in height, with the ground floor being the home of the student kitchen, the second floor being their classes where they are taught culinary theory, all topped with a slanted roof decorated with marble fixtures.

All of this had a cost to match. Catalina spent close to four million dollars to construct the building, a figure that didn't include all the cooking equipment filled to the brim within.

"I can't wait to see what's inside it," Ray said, giddy. "Man, this is like going to a toy store."

"We'll be inside in just a minute," Madison said. She then handed the bag to Valarie, who recoiled back when it was given as the bag looked like it was about to burst. "There's a bathroom right there. Go ahead and get changed."

Valarie looked a little embarrassed. "Ugh, fine, fine. Make sure no one comes in, though!"

"We'll block it, don't fret."

Hesitating for a few moments longer, Valarie walked quickly into the bathroom. The remaining four moved to block it and began waiting for her to change. Eyes inevitably wandering, Ray looked up to study the building once more.

"You know, I think I messed up," he said.

"What? Why?" Madison asked, confused.

"I should've taken an elective here," he groaned with bitter displeasure. "It would've been heaven…"

"Nothing's stopping you from coming here and hanging out, you know," Madison told him.

Ray looked like a kid on Christmas. "R-really? I can do that?!"

"You sure can! Lots of people come here to hang out with the culinary kids. They always relish an opportunity to show off their skills."

What happened next horrified Madison. She saw Ray, seemingly overcome with what only could be described as a pure, raw eagerness, rush to the door of the bathroom Valarie was in and smashed on it with the force of a battering ram.

"Hey! You almost done in there?! Lunchtime is gonna be over soon!"

"Oh, my GOD, RAY," Valarie yelled back, her voice an echo.

Instantly did Ray feel his ear being yanked away from the bathroom. Yelps of pain were heard from him before Madison finally let go. She gave him the sternest look that voiced her displeasure. Just out of her view, though, was Marielle and Emma doing their damnedest not to roar with laughter.

Ray eked out an apology, his face redder than a blazing fire, "…Sorry,"

She couldn't stay mad at him forever. Catalina's culinary department would make any lover of food and cooking lose their mind in ecstasy.

Not too long after getting a scare, Valarie finally came out of the bathroom. All eyes were on her as she now wore the cold weather gear. The star of it, of course, was the Mackinaw jacket that was worn over her uniform. As luck would have it, the color of the jacket matched wonderfully with the standard Mojave Rose uniform. It was an almost seamless transition between the two. On her hands was another piece of Army kit, a pair of tough gray gloves with a strap that tightened around the wrists, which she had done. What completed it was what she wore over her head, a black balaclava that covered all save for a small area for her eyes. Aside from that, she was covered from head to toe with protection. She looked good. All there could agree on that. But as to if it would work, that was another question.

Madison was the first among them to step closer for a better look. She looked as if her breath had been taken away. Pride swelled within her as she placed her hands on Valarie's shoulders. In doing this, she touched the jacket for the last time.

"It fits you spectacularly," Madison said. She could feel her throat tighten a tinge. "Like it's meant to be. You remember the history behind it that I told you earlier?"

A soft nod came from Valarie. "I do. I'll treasure it forever."

Madison smiled. "Now, I know how you and your family are with gifts. Understand that one day…you know…gotta pass it on."

"I know," Valarie said, sharing in her laughter.

Next, it was Emma who came closing in. Out of everyone there, she was the one who loved her look the most.

"Army jacket," she tapped Valarie's shoulder," Army gloves," a tap on her hands, "and an Army helmet," she knocked on her head. "All worn over an Army uniform. Next time this team gets sponsored, the U.S. Army better be first in line to give us cash."

"God, no kidding," Valarie moved her body to see how restrictive everything was. To her pleasant surprise, it wasn't as encumbering as she feared. In fact, all the protective clothing meshed well together. Perhaps too well, as she was already tugging at her collar to whisk in some cool air. "Geez, what's the temperature right now?"

Emma did a quick check. "About sixty-six degrees."

"Dude, it feels more like eighty. I'm already starting to steam up. Come on, let's get to that freezer."


When the group walked inside the building, they found themselves in a hallway. Walking down it, they all heard the clatter of pans, chatter, and laughter from the kitchen grow in volume with every step they took. Though Valarie's apprehension only grew as they approached, it was the total opposite for Ray. He couldn't wait to enter what indeed was a paradise on Earth for him. Just as they were opening the door, Madison briefed them on what to expect.

"These culinary kids like to spend their lunches here in the kitchen. They're fairly tight-knit but are welcome to anyone dropping by as long as they follow the rules."

"Which are…?" Valarie asked.

"Oh, they'll tell you."

Madison opened the door for them, and the group walked in. Before them was a kitchen nothing less than stupendous and much more spacious than the exterior would lead one to believe. However, before any of them could even take more than a few steps forward, they were immediately stopped in their tracks by one of the students. The girl was of African descent and of modest stature, around the same height as Valarie. Her hair was done in dreads which themselves were in a bun to best fit a hair net that she wore tight. Her clothes were identical to all the other culinary students present, a chef's outfit that looked impeccable.

This student, who was tending to some pots mere moments before, snatched a broom and thrusted its blunt end onto Valarie's chest. She wasn't thrilled at all with Valarie's presence in the kitchen, for she wore the meanest scowl.

"Woah, now! Just hold on one freaking second!" the girl's voice was loud and commanding, with a hint of a Southern tang. "I know who you are! You're one of the tankery kids! Now y'all understand this! The only oil allowed in here ain't motor oil, but olive! No grease in here but bacon grease! And I will be DAMNED to find even a speck of that gunpowder ANYWHERE in this kitchen!"

Madison wasted no time intervening. "Sabine…easy now. She did not just come fresh from their garage. The clothes she has are nice and clean. Isn't that right, Valarie?"

"Yes, I just washed them yesterday," Valarie quickly spoke. "They're as clean as they can be!"

Sabine, taking a breath, put away the broom. She approached Valarie and got uncomfortably close, enough for them to hear the other's breathing. After what seemed like an eternity, she withdrew and nodded with satisfaction. Then, she was awash with remorse.

"Oh! I do hope you find it in yourself to forgive me," Sabine asked Valarie. "It's just that this kitchen has an unblemished reputation of cleanliness, and I ain't gonna have that go and be tarnished while I'm here."

"Don't worry about it," Valarie said. "I prefer my kitchens clean too."

"Now, let's have ourselves a proper introduction," Sabine straightened her posture. She looked all proper and elegant. "My name is Sabine Vaillancourt. Born and raised in New Orleans. Senior year here at Catalina, and, to indulge in a bit of pride, a pretty damn good chef. Naturally, I specialize in Cajun cooking. It's what I know best."

Valarie was about to properly introduce herself when Sabine wagged a finger. "Boo, ain't nobody I know who doesn't know you."

"…Really now?" That was news to Valarie. She had sincerely underestimated her popularity on campus. Or was even aware it existed at all.

"You can thank her that that," Sabine gestured to Madison, who was smiling hard. "That girl simply doesn't shut up about you to anyone who listens…willingly or not."

Madison stepped forward. "What can I say? I'm very excitable."

"That and a whole lot more. Now, what are y'all doing here today? Five people coming here together surely must mean something."

"We're here to conduct a little test. As you've already noticed, Valarie is all covered up."

"She's steaming like a lobster and getting red like one, too."

"Yeah, I'm getting…warm… hot." Valarie said to everyone, playing with her uniform collar again."

"Mighty strange to wear all that clothing in a kitchen with the stoves rip roarin' hot."

"Tell me about it."

"You look cool, but you sure don't feel it."

Valarie laughed behind all her clothes. "You must take comedy classes on the side."

"We're here to test Valarie's outfit," Madison then reminded. Lunchtime wouldn't last forever; she wanted enough time to do what they wanted. "And to do that, we'll need to enlist the use of your walk-in."

"That thing, huh?" Sabine remarked curiously. "You do know it does ten below zero. That's a feisty temperature that plays no games."

"I'm aware. Valarie and her team have a match later this month, and the weather over there is absolutely frigid. If what she is wearing now can keep her decently warm in the walk-in, then the team as a whole will have no problem at their match."

Sabine hummed in thought. Several moments later, she shrugged. "By all means, go ahead. Better hurry before the poor thing slumps over."

Following Sabine, everyone was led to the walk-in freezer that served the kitchen. It was a massive thing, far more extensive than anything one would find in a typical restaurant. Easily thirty feet in width and went as deep as it was wide. Next to the door's handle was a temperature read-out that reported what everyone already knew. A bone-chilling negative ten degrees.

Seeing that, Valarie visibly shuddered. She had never seen a reading that low in her life. Least of all experiencing it. As much as her apprehension increased now that she was in front of the freezer, the same could be said for her discomfort. Half a dozen stoves were in use, their flames intensely warming the whole kitchen. Creeping ever closer to heat stroke, Valarie psyched herself up, opened the freezer door, and rushed in.

When the door closed behind her, she was isolated. The outside world ceased to exist. The thick walls cut off all sound, with the only thing audible was the droning hums of the freezer at work. Instantly did the warmth of her body leave her. She could see every breath she took, which was slowing down without her even knowing. It took her half a minute before Valarie realized she had been shivering nonstop since she entered. Then, the pain came along. Her exposed skin around her eyes felt as if they were being viciously stabbed by a thousand razor blades all at once.

She then remembered her goggles and slipped them on at once. Though it helped with the pain, Valarie found that the outside of the goggles had frosted over completely. Her vision had been reduced to a blur that only worsened as the inside of her goggles now fogged up from the remnants of her body heat. They were utterly unusable. Though, not surprising as they were never rated for temperatures so low.

Taking them off, Valarie could see again, but the pain came back with force. And to think, the match could very well be worse than what she was feeling now. Combine a windchill and perhaps even a full-blown storm, and the temperature could be unfathomably low. Though, it wasn't like any of the team would be outside much, if at all. They'll all be cooped up in their tanks. The close-quarters nature of a tank can function as something like a heater. And, despite her displeasure being in the freezer, she wasn't in an unbearable state. Sure, she was cold, but a cold that she could tough out. The clothes Madison brought worked.

Not wanting to spend a moment longer, Valarie got out of the freezer and shut the door behind her. Her uniform was covered with white patches of frost and some ice. She was still shivering, but not as much as before.

"So, how'd it go?" Madison asked.

"Good," Valarie uttered. She moved her body around to get some blood flowing. "This'll work fine enough for the team."

"Ah! Excellent!" Madison was overjoyed. "I'll bulk order many of the outfits the moment school's over."

Valarie then showed off the goggles. "These'll be a problem, though."

The frost and fog on them were noticed by Madison. "I see," she gave a nonchalant shrug. "No matter, easy enough to remedy."

"Okay, well, if we're done here…," Valarie began to remove the excess clothing. When the balaclava came off, her hair was a total mess. The worst kind of rat's nest. "Great, gotta redo this before lunch is over."

"That's on me!" Emma exclaimed.

With their task accomplished, the group made their leave from the kitchen. All save for Ray, who slowed his walk to a crawl, lingering behind, and moved to a nearby stove with his hand hovering over the controls.

"Say, you don't mind if I stick around here and make myself some lunch, do you?" he asked.

Sabine looked at Ray, awfully curious like. She dug out a hairnet from a nearby drawer and threw it at him. "Alright, boy, show me what ya got!"


Friday, October 11th

Early Afternoon

The weekend's early arrival was heralded by the thunder of guns. Over at Catalina's Inspiration Park, the Mojave Rose team was hard at work, right in the thick of things. Throughout the wilderness, tanks trampled bushes, guns belched smoke, and the radio comms were the epitome of loud and chaos. The team was in the midst of their new practice schedule, and things were progressing…decently.

Moving at speed down a dirt road, the T-44 rumbled through it, kicking up rocks and dust. The Cromwell IV followed right behind them, keeping close to the lead tank. Nearby the pair were the rest of the team, in their squads, all moving together in one direction.

"All squads, listen up!" Valarie shouted out over the radio. "Targets have been placed throughout the forest. Spread out! Seek and destroy!"

A wave of affirmatives from the squad leaders came about. Once loosely together, the five groups of tanks split and soon disappeared from the other's view. The T-44 and the Cromwell being a part of Gold Squadron remained together, put their collective pedal to the mettle, and pushed forward. Guns pointed in different directions, the forest was scanned intently for any targets that dwelled within. Minutes went by as they drove, and all the while, the echoes of cannon fire rang throughout the park. From the corner of her eye, Valarie would catch the flashes of the guns deep into the woods. Sights like that never got old.

"Contact!" Sage yelled. The Cromwell IV screeched to a halt, its turret moving to take aim. A moment later, its gun erupted and sent a round between a pair of trees. "That target's nothing but splinters now."

"Nicely done," Valarie complimented. She ducked down into her own turret. "Sage got one over us. How about we even the score? Emma?"

"Hooold on," she replied. Emma, eye on her scope and hands of the controls, moved the turret to scan their surroundings. "I know I saw a blur of white nearby…it's here somewhere…," the turret continued the move. All the crew was silent, letting their gunner do her work. Then, it stopped suddenly. In the next moment, she pulled the trigger, the gun booming. "Neutralized."

"Awesome," Valarie noted with a smile.

"Shooting is going well, but that's a given, really," Ashley remarked.

"True," Valarie tapped her chin. "Having more practice wasn't exactly meant for more gunnery training, though. It sure doesn't hurt."

"And I sure don't mind taking this sweet baby out for more spins," Heather added.

"Also true," Valarie continued. "Though, what I'm really paying attention to today is how well the team's synergy will be under the new system."

"How do you get a feel for that?" asked Ashley.

"By simply listening," Valarie turned to her radio set, turned a dial, and began to listen to an open frequency that was alive with chatter. Her ears were bombarded by a deluge of voices, some focused while others were frantic. There was something genuinely off with the way the team was communicating. It wasn't as if they were doing anything wrong. Commanders barked out orders like they always did, alerted their crews to targets, and so on. But there was this messiness to it all whose cause Valarie couldn't put a finger on. Sure, this could be just growing pains due to the squad format, and with enough time, it'll all be straightened out. But if they weren't growing pains? Well, that would be a problem that must be resolved quickly. How? She'll figure that out.

And the radio communication conundrum wasn't the only thing on her mind. Valarie was also concerned with how the new squad leaders would perform in their roles. She had little to no worry for Ray and Marielle, themselves squad leaders. Those two had proven that they could command well enough. It was the other two leaders that Valarie thought about more, Louise and Aurora. Now, to say that she didn't have any confidence in the pair, they wouldn't be squad leaders in the first place if she didn't. Both have done things in the past to cement that. Louise, of course, had her bold takedown of the E-100. For Aurora, funnily enough, it was her doing tankathlon. Organizing others to join her and participating in a match, despite Valarie's personal feelings against the unsanctioned sport, showed a good deal of initiative. Such a thing couldn't be ignored.

Switching off the frequency, a relative silence swooped in. Taking in a breath, Valarie took out her playbook and took down some notes. It was a definite good move to have practice more often. They'll need every precious second to get up to snuff.

Pulling up beside her tank, the Cromwell came to a stop. Sage was out of her turret and called out to Valarie. "Yo! How do you think we're doing?"

Valarie responded by wiggling her hand in the air in a gesture of 'so-so'.

"You know, it feels like day one again," Sage added, wistfully reminiscing on the early days. "Those times were certainly a mood. Oh! Almost forgot. I saw a target nearby that hadn't been hit. I don't think Sierra has fired at all today."

From the heavens came a response to the words Sage said. The ground shook as a nearby area of woodland was engulfed in smoke and flame. The target that Sage talked about just a moment ago no longer existed in this world.

"We're not a runny-shooty kind of crew," Jacqueline's voice sounded from the radio. She had heard what Sage said. "We just shoot."

"You're doing just what you need to do," Valarie said warmly. "I think out of everyone, things won't change much for you. If at all."

With a simple gesture of the hands, Valarie signaled to Sage that it was time to press on. Practice wasn't over just yet.


Catalina's Campus

Staying after school on a Friday can be a surreal experience for most. A place so regularly filled to the brim with students, staff, and faculty to now be almost a ghost town can almost be unnerving, as if this shouldn't be possible. Though, for Madison, with her baggage of responsibilities and tasks, such a sight was not unusual in the slightest. The same cannot be said for Viola, who was enjoying the novelty of it.

"This is eerie," she said, looking around. "This place feels more immense without all the people."

"Have you never stayed after school before? Like, at all?" Madison incredulously asked.

Viola shook her head, "No. Some time ago, I was in a private school somewhat like this back in Germany, but it was landbound. It was a much smaller institution but quite nice. My parents didn't want me to linger there longer than I needed to be."

Madison had to beat down a laugh from within her. "What were they worried about? I highly doubt the school you attended was in the ghetto," when the last word left her mouth, she instantly regretted it. She began to stammer her words, "Okay, ah, when I mean 'ghetto', I mean—"

A smooth rising of Viola's hand calmed her right down. "I know what you mean. I know more about American culture than just Westerns. My parents weren't concerned about the school's security or about my overall safety. That was never in doubt, of course. It was more about my health."

That raised an eyebrow from Madison. "Health? Was it too stressful?"

Viola chuckled. "It wasn't," she paused for several moments before continuing. "About three years ago, I started to have these pains in my lungs. Breathing became a chore. I was bedridden as the painkillers I took made me perpetually weary. During that time, I left that school and was tutored at home."

"Oh," was all Madison could say.

"I'm on a medical regimen now," Viola assured her. "Two pills, twice per day. One to help me breathe, another a good painkiller that doesn't make me drowsy."

"Honestly, with everything you just said, I'm bewildered that your parents allowed you to be here at all."

"Well," Viola sported a wide grin. "You know what parents do when they dote on their daughters…they can't say no forever."

"Oh, quite so," Madison said, sharing in her grin.

The pair had been walking for some time when they finally spotted their destination. They had crossed campus completely, the furthest they could be from the main entrance as they possibly could be. Where they were headed was the building that was the home of the metalsmithing students. It looked nothing like any of the other structures on campus. Other facilities had a clear style in mind. The designers put as much thought into aesthetics as much as they did to ensure a structurally robust building. For the metalsmith building, it was the complete and utter opposite.

For one, the students didn't have a conventional classroom. They had one building with one floor all to themselves. Though, it was no regular building but more a miniaturized foundry. It was not decorative nor ornate. It was constructed with function, with form nowhere to be seen. A solid and overpowering industrial vibe emanated from it.

"Not to be rude, but that building looks like it was bombed," Viola commented. She pointed to all the soot covering almost every inch of the exterior. Where it came from was no mystery. A large chimney billowed dark smoke from the rooftop.

"It doesn't look pretty, but great things are made there. That, I promise you." Madison boasted.

"Say, what did we have to wait until the end of the school day to see them?"

"As I said earlier, they were in the middle of a project that they only completed a few short hours ago."

Viola hummed. "Would it be proper then to have them work on another project so soon after their last?"

"Believe me, these people hate to be idle. We're doing them a favor here."

"Ah, good. Lead the way."

Holding the door open for her, Viola was the first in the building. The sight she saw was nothing less than impressive. On one wall was a rack filled with a great variety of tools; from hammers to all shapes and sizes, files to shave down metal, graspers to grip red hot metal objects, and a whole lot more. On the wall opposite was the storage for all the metals. The metalsmiths used iron the most, though there were others in the playset, too, such as copper and aluminum. At the center of it all was their great furnace. Any piece of metal thrown into it was turned liquid in short order. It was the pride and joy of the people there.

The foundry wasn't empty, as Madison had said. The metalsmith students were about to clean their workspaces before calling it a day. Each wore heavy-duty boiler suits and headgear for protection, for they all worked the furnace. Viola counted eleven people in total, which was small for a class. What's more, of these eleven, only three were girls. She now understood that metalsmithing was one of the few departments where it was male-dominated.

One of the students, the tallest of the bunch, noticed the new arrivals. Putting away a tool he was polishing, he began to march toward them. The boy had ginger hair that he wore high and tight. On his face were both freckles and a thick pair of glasses.

"Alright, what now," the boy said. His tone of voice told Viola he was more of a rural type. "Got some play where the scenery calls for metal? Well, color me shocked. Seems like every play that involves you nowadays always needs metal. I mean, yeah, we're bound by the school to do projects for other departments upon request, but we do have our own projects to do throughout the year. Just a little FYI."

Madison was quick to assuage his concerns. "No, Jackson, we are not here for anything related to the theater department."

Jackson leaned back against a table with a slight grin. "Good,"

"But," Madison went on. "We are here for something. A small commission."

The boy leaned close to Madison. The scent of metal and vaporized gas was overwhelming. Though it was odors she had grown much accustomed to the past few months. "Small…," Jackson huffed. "When you ran for re-election for student council president last year, you commissioned from us plaques for you to give away."

Madison looked at him all innocent and sweet-like. "Plaques are small things."

"Sure…one is. But you asked for thirty."

She shrugged with some awkwardness. "Alright, I'll admit—"

"Then there was the time where on behalf of those dancing kids, you commissioned a statue of a ballet mid-dance. Again, you said it would be small, but when you gave us the specifications, it turned out to be a good five feet tall."

"Okay," Madison raised her arms. "I suppose we do have a difference in view of what 'small' means—"

"Ha…supposedly,"

"But recall that for each and everything you have done for me came out absolutely exquisitely. I come here because I know of the talented craftsmen that reside here."

"And that we were paid personally by you."

"Yes…," Madison said slowly. "Now, this face mask…"

Jackson rubbed his chin for some time. He nodded to himself, thinking silently. Then finally, he said, "Okay. The usual fee, then?"

"Well…about that," her words were mumbled as she played with her hair. "If it were any of time, I'd have no issue fairly compensating you, but, ah, with me personally funding a good deal of a tankery team," she coughed. "Suffice to say, my allowance is being devoured. So, I hope that for this commission—"

Jackson turned his back on Madison. "See ya."

"Oh, come on! It's not even for me! It's for her!"

She gestured toward Viola, who sat on a nearby stool the entire time they talked, hands in her lap, quietly looking at them both.

"Who the hell is she?"

Madison snapped at him to hush and stood beside him for a quieter conversation. "Okay, here's the deal. That there is Viola Auguste Diana Wilhelm, Princess of Schleswig-Holstein, of the House of Hohenzollern. She is a descendant of the last German emperor."

"Bullshit,"

"No, what I'm saying is real shit. She is literally royalty."

"So…will she pay then?"

"…No,"

Jackson was about to turn his back again, but Madison grabbed him by the shoulders to keep his front toward her.

"Listen! Do you remember months ago when this ship made port in Long Beach for like a day before suddenly demanding everyone who was off the ship to come back ASAP?"

"Yeah," he said. "That sucked."

"It did. Wanna know why that happened?"

"Why?"

"Because of her," Madison pointed with her head to Viola.

"Really? Over one girl?"

"Like I said. Royalty. School administration was obsessed with getting her. So, with that in mind, make her happy. If she's happy, then the administrators are happy, and when they're happy, they'll be more inclined to show some favor to those that made her—"

"Happy," Jackson finished. He then hummed. "You know, we have been hurting for some tin to make bronze. We never seem to have enough of the stuff. Getting more funding from school officials would be very nice…," he sighed. "Okay, we'll make that mask. Shouldn't be too hard anyway."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Viola. Evidently, the conversation between Jackson and Madison wasn't as private as they'd like. "This mask, I want it to adjust the contours of my face. A fit that is more than perfect. As if it could come alive."

"Interesting, interesting," Jackson remarked. "I'll need to make a plaster of your face and, from there, make a mold."

"Good. Oh, and I want this mask made of silver, please, and thank you."

He looked at her as if she was an alien. "Uh, s'cuse me? We don't have many precious metals here. A few small tablets of silver are all we got, girl."

"Oh, pity…"

Thinking that the mask commission was a bust, Jackson moved to go back to polishing tools, but he caught eyes from Madison. Eyes ready for murder. He then knew that she demanded of him to find a solution. Thinking on his feet, he found one.

"Well, hold on," he said to Viola, "While we don't have enough silver for a full mask, we could instead craft it out of steel and finish it with a silver veneer. That outta do the trick. Yeah…I can see it now. All nice and polished. Reflective like a mirror."

Viola nodded with pure glee. "Sir, I find that very acceptable. I would like this done before the Halloween festivities later this month."

"That's more than enough time for us. Just come back here soon to get that face of yours all plastered up."

Viola gingerly got down from her stool. She approached Jackson and moved to shake his hand, which he accepted. Jackson was embarrassed that his hands were all dirty, knowing she was royalty. But she didn't appear to mind. She and Madison made their leave and were back outside the building. The pair made their way toward the exits to get the weekend started.

"My, that Jackson," Madison commented. "He usually doesn't talk much—or at all—toward anyone. He's the quiet type. But, to me? He has whole speeches lined up."

"That says more about you than him," Viola said, hiding a smile. Suddenly, her attention was snatched by the distant booms and cracks of guns coming from the direction of the ship's park. "Curious. I thought practice for those friends of yours wasn't until Saturday."

"Oh, they're doing something new, and because of that, they need to practice more."

"Ah, good on them," Viola said with approval. "They do have a match coming up soon, don't they? They will need every precious second of training. I do hope it's going well."

Madison flashed a warm smile. "I got no doubt it's going well. It's them, after all."


Late Evening

The setting of the sun ushered in the coolness of the evening. Cannons that had been firing every other second for a good three hours were now silent. Practice for the Mojave Rose team was drawing near an end, with all their tanks grouped together in a clearing within the park. People were out and about, either talking amongst themselves or inspecting their machines for anything untoward. Valarie was half paying attention to them and half writing out of the commander's hatch of the T-44. She wasn't entirely satisfied with how practice went today. Valarie was now convinced that the breaking-in period of the new squad format would be much longer than previously anticipated. That wasn't much of a surprise, really. It was a possibility that was already well-established in her mind.

What also occupied her thoughts was that off feeling she had earlier. It remained. There was something about the radio communication of the team that irked her. It was messy, not like how it used to be, but why was it like this? The more Valarie dwelled on the problem, the more frustrated she became. Sighing loudly, she resumed writing her notes.

Just down below were the rest of her crew. With practice just about to be over, the trio elected to inspect the state of their tank. As tomorrow brought another training day, their inspections were much more thorough. Now, more than ever, did their tanks need to be at their best.

"So…this squad thing," Emma spoke. "Thoughts?"

"I'm digging it," Heather replied.

"I like it," Ashley said, her hands digging out mud caught between roadwheels. "Makes things tacti-cool, ya know? Though, with this new schedule and all. Man, I dunno. That's a lotta shells being picked up and move. If I never knew soreness before…"

"Thankfully, it's only temporary, but it'll be a whirlwind of busyness for sure," Emma reminded. "Plus, all the extra loading will give you one nice workout. You'll get another layer of muscle on top of what you already have."

Ashley loved the sound of that. "Well, when you put it that way, tomorrow can't come soon enough! Oh! When I get home, I'm going to prep some protein shakes. I'll definitely be needing a few of those."

"I can't wait for tomorrow either," Heather said, voice filled with barely contained excitement. She gently laid her hands on the hull of the machine, whose metal was dented from an uncountable number of received fire, and in some areas, bare steel was seen where once the iconic Soviet green paint stood, it being scratched off from wear and tear. Nonetheless, she touched it as if the tank was molded from pure gold. "Driving her is a blessing. Every second in the driver's seat is a moment where I am thrilled."

Ashley and Emma watched as Heather went on to rub her hands on the T-44 while muttering under her breath how a 'good girl' it was. Heather's antics had long since become the usual fare to the Oasis crew. Just another aspect of their day, one among many.

Another exasperated sigh came from above when the crew wrapped up their inspections. The trio all looked up to see Valarie with her face buried in her playbook. Emma wasted no time climbing up to check up on her.

"What's up? You okay?"

Valarie looked up from her writings. "This weirdness with the radio communication will be the end of me if I don't figure out why it's like that!"

"Is it that bad?" Emma questioned.

Her words stammered before she could speak coherently again. "It's-well, I don't want to call it bad, but it's not like how it was before. Like…it could be better. But how to make it better…God! I don't know!"

"You figured out tougher problems before during our matches. Maybe we have to put you back in that environment? Maybe some machine gun going off nearby will get that noggin working?"

Valarie dryly chuckled. "Imagine if that worked…"

"Or…," Emma said, grinning. "We tackle this problem like we did for your chemistry class and study hard."

A wave of pure disgust washed over Valarie's face. "My God…that class…that exam."

"Your biggest fight, huh?"

"Dude, I was fighting for my life in that exam."

Now, both girls were smiling at each other before descending into giggles. After sharing that moment, Valarie signaled to the rest of the team that practice for the day was over. Everyone wasted no time in getting back into their tanks and began returning to the garage. They needed all the rest they'll need for tomorrow will be even busier, longer, and, above all, tiring.


Late That Night

It was less than twenty minutes to midnight, and Madison was absolutely miserable. The moment school let out hours ago, she went straight back to her dorm, sat in front of her laptop, and began shopping for the cold weather gear the team would need later in the month. The balaclavas, gloves, and thermal underwear were easy enough to secure. But those Mackinaw jackets proved to be nigh impossible to find anywhere. Every online shop she ventured to, from the mainstream to the dodgy, all reported that their Mackinaws were sold out. Now, other kinds of those jackets were available for purchase, but she didn't want them. Madison wanted the type that she wore, the Army-issued Mackinaws. Mainly because she could vouch for their ability to keep the wearer warm.

"I swear to Christ, if I see another 'out-of-stock' message, I'm gonna snap this damn computer in half…"

She closed it and wheeled away from her desk to save her sanity and poor innocent computer. Without the blue glow of a computer screen, her room was pitch black. In the darkness, she calmed herself through controlled breathing. Why procuring the Mackinawas was so challenging wasn't some grand mystery. Military kits have been the mainstay in tankery athletes' uniforms since the sport's inception nearly a century ago. What's more, with the internationals going on, the fervor and popularity surrounding the sport increased. So, by and large, any supplies and gear remotely related to tankery have become hot commodities.

This was an obvious problem, but even more so for her. If Madison was late in finding a supplier for the jackets, the team wouldn't get them until after their match against the French. Two-day shipping did not exist for school ships. From past experience ordering material not only for the Mojave Rose team but also for Catalina's theater department, it taught her that stuff can take up to a week to arrive. If she can't find a seller soon, it'll be too late when those jackets do eventually come.

Madison, weary with exhaustion, her eyes struggling to keep open, slowly dug out her phone from her pocket to check the time. The brightness of the screen made it wince, but not as much when she looked at what time it was. Ten minutes 'till one o'clock in the morning. Her groan matched her exhaustion as she stared up at the dark ceiling. Her bed was calling her, and she so desperately wanted to answer, but she'd hate to sleep without at least some semblance of a solution. Her mind, half-asleep, moved like a slug as it tried to think. But, even a slug will soon enough get to where they're going.

As she was on the cusp of passing out, Madison was cognizant just enough for her to remember something; those phone numbers Valarie was given from the American commanders during the nationals. Could they be of help? Madison was keenly aware that military gear was common among tankery teams, and it was a near guarantee for American teams. Maybe, just maybe, at least one of the teams Mojave Rose defeated had some Mackinaws. And if so…perhaps they could spare some. After all, if they weren't the courteous type, then why bother giving out those phone numbers at all? At last satisfied, Madison crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her. Calling those American teams was worth a shot.

It was time for them to rally around the flag.