Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY or World of Tanks
Ruby looked nervously around the amphitheater, having just entered but already being hit with just how many people there were. She wasn't antisocial by any means- okay, maybe just a little- but there was a vast difference between the crowds of people she'd encountered before and the sheer mass in the amphitheater. All of them were so different, too- a kaleidoscope of hair colors, an entire armory in people's hands already. A flaming sword there, a bullpupped assault rifle there, someone stupid enough to have a top-fed magazine over there…
She quietly moved out of the doorway, then focused on just finding the people she knew. The Initiation ceremony was soon, so she needed to get with her team. And… off by herself- of course by herself- was Weiss, standing with her back overly straight. Quickly, Ruby approached, being careful to go around the groups of people in her way- which, usually, sent her narrowly between groups of people.
Finally, she got to her partner, and greeted, "Hey Weiss."
The girl looked quickly over, then returned, "Ruby."
The two stood in silence for a moment- a fairly comfortable silence, though. There just wasn't anything Ruby wanted to bring up, and evidently there wasn't anything Weiss wanted to bring up, either. For a little bit, at least, there was peace. Eventually, Blake walked up, and Ruby greeted, "Hey."
"Hello," Blake returned casually. Again, silence… until Blake proceeded to simply sit on the floor, crack open a book, and start reading. Ruby, of course, didn't object- in fact, she was fairly happy with the arrangement, since it meant she could very easily peek at Blake's book. Though she would have preferred a happier book, or a bit more context as to… anything about it, really.
"What on earth are you doing?" Weiss objected. Ruby quickly said, "Sorry!"
"Not you- for now," Weiss said, then questioned, "Are you truly going to just sit around?"
Blake looked up, and noted, "There's not much to do right now."
"We could talk," Ruby suggested, "Like, uh… what's your pistol's MOA?"
A long moment of silence passed. Ruby explained, "That's minute of angle, by the way. The barrel's pretty short, but maybe if you made the bullet really small so that the ratio of length was still skewed to the barrel…"
"More importantly," Weiss said, "You must stand up."
Blake shrugged, and Weiss huffed, "Do you have any care how you present yourself?"
Blake's bow seemed to slightly twitch, but it might've just been from how quickly she shook her head while denying, "What would I have to cover up?"
"I mean, she is in pants," Ruby noted, "Lucky."
Weiss huffed indignantly, and Ruby murmured, "What's the worst that could happen from it?"
For a moment, Weiss pondered, then agreed, "Fine. But you will stand for the ceremony."
"Yeah," Blake nodded. Weiss nodded back, with much more conviction, and Ruby said, "Anyway, so, what kind of bullets does your pistol use, anyway? Like, do you have specialized rounds or just fire-propelled ones?"
"Uh… I think they're just the second type," Blake answered. Ruby nodded, "Yeah, it would be kinda hard to get a decent warhead with such a low caliber without risking premature detonation from barrel pressure."
Blake nodded dubiously, then returned to her book, while Weiss pointed out, "An issue which could be solved by simple quality control of the Dust used."
"Yeah, of course," Ruby nodded, "But still. Plus, it's not like you could really fit that big a warhead at all without having to cut into the propellant."
Weiss nodded quietly. Silence once again reigned. Eventually, the teachers came around and started marshalling students into their teams- unfortunately meaning that Blake did have to get up. Their team was at the back of the line, for some reason- the very, very back. While the teacher was around, cooperative silence, broken by murmurs of affirmation, reigned.
As soon as the teacher left, though- by which time Blake had already sat back down- Weiss fumed, "This is your fault, with that grotesque behavior?"
Blake questioned, "Grotesque?"
"What you are doing is indeed grotesque- stand up already!" Weiss shot. Blake shrugged, and Ruby asked, "Why's it such a big deal?"
"Clearly," Weiss said, "We've been cast aside due to her lack of basic etiquette, and the fact that your sister can't be punctual!"
"Well, I'm more punch-you-all, so," Yang murmured, approaching. Ruby waved slightly, and Weiss huffed, while Yang eased, "Relax, Ice Queen, or you'll melt into ice cream."
Ruby sighed deeply, and Weiss commanded, "Just stay quiet during the ceremony."
"Sure," Yang shrugged, then asked, "Anyone seen that weird guy from the forest?"
Ruby shook her head, and Weiss sighed, "Once, unfortunately."
Blake sniffed in amusement, and Ruby remembered, "Oh! I figured out what the thingies were!"
No one said anything in congratulations or asked to hear more. But, that didn't matter; clearly it was just awkward that Ruby paused- at least, that was how Ruby saw it.
"It's called a tank," Ruby explained, "There are some made in Mistral, called Lotus-"
"Wait, so is it a tank or a lotus?" Blake questioned. Yang pointed out, "I think it was a bit too big to be a lotus. And metally."
"Lotus is the brand name," Weiss shot, "They used to supply Mistral's army."
"Until you ran them under?" Blake guessed. Weiss shook her head, "They went bankrupt on their own, though Mistral's government still gives the contract money to them."
"Uh… that's not how that works," Yang pointed out. Ruby hypothesized, "Maybe the money got embezzled midway through."
"Oh, yeah," Yang nodded. Ruby was about to carry on talking about the cool piece of military hardware she'd found out about, when Ozpin began, "Today, one hundred young huntsmen and huntresses have taken the first step…"
-Later
The nights at Beacon were almost always quiet, sometimes surprisingly, sometimes not. In this case, it could have been considered surprising; after all, every incoming student had just had their teams for the next four years of their life announced. One may well have expected an air of nervous energy to be floating about; instead, merely a half hour after the ceremony ended, nearly the whole campus was asleep. This, however, could also have been expected; fighting was hard work, and it was what all of the students had done for most of the day. Indeed, the phrase 'nearly the whole campus' reflects this; aside from a scant few, all of the people still awake were teachers who had merely observed the Initiation.
One of those scant few was Hans Karlson, bitter and striding angrily towards the tallest building around. After five hours of presenting himself as a proud soldier of the SS- or trying to, anyway- he still had not received a new tank or a new crew. None of the people he was around spoke German, save for the two people he'd met at the cliffs and the Anglophilic girl in white. The latter was, in his mind, rude and a filthy race-traitor. And the former had the gall not to treat him as the most important person in the world. So far, he had not seen anyone of a higher rank; so, clearly- at least, clearly to him- he was the most important person in the world.
He had not seen any of his crew, at least- the thought of them being held prisoner brought a smile to his face. Or it would have, if Hans weren't busy keeping his face in an intimidating snarl. To this end, he came up with another possibility- that the fool loader Otto had done something to delay them. It was more realistic, too; while he wished the matches of tank warfare were true wars, they weren't, and people weren't often- or, really, ever- taken prisoner. Though, tank matches also didn't last for hours, so…
Finally, he got to the doors of the building, and threw one outwards, then stormed in. Quickly, he made his way over to the elevators at the other end of what was plainly meant to be a waiting room, ignoring the reasons why a waiting room might be necessary. When he pushed the button, though, the elevator wasn't there immediately, giving him time to do a couple of things.
Firstly, he cursed elevators. He hadn't used them very often before- they just weren't necessary in matches, as one might've guessed, and even when the fights were done, the buildings around didn't often have many elevators. Not to mention, only those who weren't sent to the garage got to enjoy a victor's rest in a vacated battlefield- even if their team won, a knocked-out tank would be in the garage until the next fight. Hans knew this well because he was almost always one of the tanks knocked out, often times the first in a battle. All told, it took him a moment to remember that elevators had to travel, and didn't just appear.
The next was to consider all that he was doing- ignoring any waiting protocols, so that he could demand an elevator immediately, so that he could bother someone immediately with problems which he probably could have handled himself. The last bit caught him for a moment, as he realized that he should always handle things himself, like how he imagined a real man would do things. But, then again, it was, to him, far better to thrust the responsibility on someone else. Ultimately, he concluded even more fervently than before that clearly his problems should be dealt with by someone else.
Finally, the elevator arrived, and he headed inside, then hit the top-most button. This, he figured with his limited experience, would lead to the top-most floor, which was always where the most important people would be. As the elevator jolted upward, his mind wandered over to thoughts of Generalfeldmarschall Rommel, and how he, an important person, would usually be on the field rather than the top floor of a tall building. Perhaps the same was true for the person here…
Quickly, Hans shook his head; from what he'd seen, the man in charge here was no Rommel. In this, he was actually right, for once, and any sane person could've seen a reason why. Rommel was a man with arguably limited strategic experience when the time came for his infamous desert campaign, and his strategy of leading from the front was born of quite a bit of experience at a more tactical level. As for the folly in France; he was high on meth, most likely. The schoolmaster, by contrast, had grey hair- clearly a sign of veterancy in his field, enough so that he wouldn't make such a foolish mistake- and didn't seem to be high. Well, not on drugs, at least- Hans had been right in assuming that the headmaster occupied the top floor.
Ultimately, though, a sane person would see a reason why the headmaster was not like Rommel, but very few people could have seen Hans' reason and been termed sane. That reason being; all the children were dressed in individual outfits with garish colors rather than stern uniforms, reflecting- in his mind- a complete lack of discipline that must have resulted from a- to Hans- incompetent headmaster. Such an incompetent would, then, obviously be someone who did not enforce discipline themselves. Naturally, this gave him further conviction in his anger.
Finally, the elevator arrived. Immediately, he stormed out, and into quite a remarkable room. It was an extremely large, open room, and-
"Schulmeister! Ich werde mit Ihnen sprechen!" Hans shot, not taking even the slightest second to appreciate where he was. Instead, he continued marching forward, finally reaching the desk where the grey-haired, bespectacled headmaster sat in an extremely odd chair, watching a screen that was only half-there. Any other person with Hans' experience would have promptly balked at the weird apparition- he, after all, had never seen a hologram. But, like before, Hans ignored the oddity of the world around him in favor of demanding, "Ich fordere Verpflegung und Unterkunft auf Befehl des Führers!"
The last part was a lie; he had never met a genuine servant of the- in his mind great- Führer, Adolf Hitler. Nor had he taken any measures which would have actually placed him in the Führer's service. And he made no judgement as to whether the Führer would have given a concordant demand for accommodations if he were alive. The Führer was, after all, the Führer- someone to be invoked to garner authority and drama for a statement; something which he decided to do now.
Ozpin, for his part, sighed, then questioned, "Wird Ihr Führer Sie nach Hause bringen?"
Hans' fist clenched, and he barked, "Ich brauche Unterkünfte, bis ich einen Panzerkampfwagen become! Machen Sie sie jetzt!"
Ozpin narrowed his eyes a moment, then informed, "Da brauchst du nichts. Ihr Tank ist schon da."
He turned a small, round object, which in turn turned the hologram over to Hans. Hans stared at it a moment, seeing a Panzer III.
"Das ist nicht mein Tank ... aber es wird reichen," he said, then commanded, "Bring mich dazu!"
"Es ist bereits auf dem Weg," Ozpin informed. Hans ground his teeth a moment, and Ozpin said, "Da es in Kürze hier sein wird, schlage ich vor, dass Sie einfach darauf warten."
Hans' ground his teeth further, then nodded, half-singing, "Der Tag glühend heiß, Oder eiskalt die Nacht, Bestaubt sind die Gesichter, Doch froh ist unser Sinn, Ist unser Sinn. Es braust unser Panzer, Im Sturmwind dahin."
As he stormed off, he hummed the tune to himself. Ozpin took a celebratory sip of coco when the elevator departed downwards, then turned the hologram back to himself. The boxy thing he'd been viewing was still moving ahead; wordlessly, he summoned the view of the other boxy thing back up, and looked at it for a moment. It, too, was moving along-
Boom!
And had apparently spotted something that gave them cause to fire. Ozpin strained his eyes uselessly to possibly see what it was. Cameras weren't cheap; cameras capable of extremely remote functioning were even less cheap; cameras with that and any sort of night optics were nigh-impossible to be acquired. And there had never really been a need for them before, either- the longest any student had ever stayed in the forest without dying was still hours before nighttime, after all.
Fortunately, though, he didn't have to see to know what was happening; a horrendous mettalic screeching sounded from the boxier thing's end. Ozpin looked over, and saw that one of its wheels had been completely shattered. Quickly, the upper section of the thing started moving- almost just as the other thing stopped its motion, its upper part also moving.
Boom!
And the less boxy of the two fired again. Abruptly, the woman who'd managed to be in both things got out from their hatch, waving their arms. Less than a foot away, the round from the thing she'd originally been with finally made impact, smashing through what seemed to be steel plate with apparent ease.
"Stop!" the woman yelled, "Stop! Ribbans, cease fire!"
She ducked back down into the thing.
-Where the camera was pointed
"I believe that may be my gunner shooting us," Gladys said as she got back in the Panzer III, "So, can I take it that you lot will be civil?"
"He is an impressive shot," Otto complimented, and Karl noted, "He may not have hit a more mobile target."
Gladys huffed, and Otto ordered, "Fritz, du und her will fix the track. I expect that your crew will be kind in turn."
Gladys nodded, "They will."
Otto nodded sternly, and Gladys got out of her hatch, then made her way back onto firm soil. Quickly, she turned right, then walked around the track-horn and made a u-turn such that she could see the track itself. And, more importantly, the damaged front wheel- which, because this was a German tank, would be the drive sprocket. It wasn't hit head on- it was really on the back of it that was shattered. Still, though; a good, disabling shot.
"An die Arbeit gehen," she heard Fritz command, "Jetzt!"
She turned, starting, "Well, if you could…"
She trailed off, having a gun pointed at her for the third time that day. It was another pistol; a broomhandle C96. And somehow, it looked even more intimidating than the Luger before it. She could picture Fritz using its boxy, weighty lower portion to bash her skull in with blunt-
Bang!
In an instant, Fritz pointed it skyward and fired a shot, then pointed it back at her in the moment that it took Gladys to shudder.
"Arbeit macht frei, oder ich werde es tun," he shot, "Jetzt ran an die Sache, Inselaffe!"
Gladys let in a quick, shuddery breath, then nodded, setting to work on the track. She'd have to remove it, then remove the wheel, then find a way to get him to wait for the new parts to spawn in- assuming they did. But, looking at the track, she saw that the pins keeping it together were bent, rather crudely. She looked to Fritz, murmuring, "Th-This s-seems to-"
"JETZT!" he barked, pointing his gun seemingly at the dirt. Gladys shuddered-
Bang!
And he fired another round. Gladys screamed, but her ankle suddenly didn't bother her anymore; it just felt extremely cold, and collapsed in an instant. Now on the ground, Gladys brought her leg up, too terrified to bother with the intricacies of the fact that she was in a skirt. That fear only increased when she saw a trail of bright red liquid running along her leg.
"Gott im Himmel, was passiert hier draußen?" she heard Otto say. Quickly, she looked up at the turret, and saw the man standing there, once again holding what she was now able to recognize as an MP40, one hand on the magazine. He appeared very intimidating, just like before, and even more so when he turned to Fritz and barked, "Was ist die Bedeutung davon!"
"Sie verzögerte die Arbeit!" Fritz retorted, "Der untermensch muss mit Gewalt zur Arbeit gebracht werden!"
Boom!
Off in the distance, she heard Ribbans fire another round.
Pa-pa-pa-pa!
And then Otto shot Fritz. The way he was stood out from the cupola, while Fritz was on the ground, meant that the angle of the bullets was downward. Otto, having been a loader before and not a gunner, was such an arguably poor shot that he hit Fritz in the joint where the neck meets the torso rather than getting a clean kill via headshot.
Fritz still managed a scream as he fell, sounding simply ghastly from how the air exited through two holes, the blood adding a sort of gurgling effect. Gladys turned pale, and Otto asked, "Are you uninjured?"
A metallic screeching would have cut Gladys off, had she said anything. But she didn't; she just stared at Fritz's body. The fact that she was outside of a tank made everything feel different; now, she was looking at another human being, with blood seeping onto the ground, rather than at a burning hulk. Her soul fell into her stomach, pushing its contents back up to try and make room for itself. Gladys' primal instinct to vomit fortunately included turning to the side, so she was able to at least do that before her bile came up her throat and splatted onto the ground.
She breathed in a deep sigh, then yelled, "Don't fire! Cease your bloody fire, Ribbans!"
With that now done, she turned back to sighing heavily, repeatedly, finally becoming sobs when her tear ducts remembered to do their jobs. Otto noted, "You are kind to spare us after his actions."
Gladys said nothing back, continuing to sob, her tears mixing with the blood and vomit and leaves and grass on the ground. Finally, she gave one last sigh, then pushed herself up- and fell back down again, her ankle instantly giving out. This time, she stayed on the ground, and Otto noted, "We will have to use our kit for Fritz."
Gladys nodded, "Of… o-of course…"
Her gaze traveled back to the dead body. It was still there; she would have believed it would remain there forever, looking at how pale and dead it was. Otto dipped back into the turret, and she found herself continuing to stare at the body, her stomach feeling like it was filled with lead. Finally, though, the adrenaline of the situation wore off, and she promptly cried out in pain. That adrenaline had, after all, been what was keeping her from screaming about her ankle being shot; now, it was gone.
Just over her screaming, though, she heard the creaking of a track and the sputtering of an engine. Abruptly, the track stopped creaking, and Gladys heard a few metal thunks, then someone hitting the snow.
"Oh, bloody hell… really…"
Gladys recognized by the voice that it was Emma, and sighed in relief; her crew had found her, she was safe.
Boom!
Ribbans reminded, "There are still beasties about."
Gladys nodded slightly, while Emma applied the mutli-kit. After a few moments, the pain in Gladys' leg went away, and she stood up while Emma murmured, "Did that get you alright?"
Gladys nodded quietly, seeing her tank in front of her. Ribbans and Carney were both turnt out, Carney's eyes wide, while Ribbans- used to seeing Gladys unconscious in the turret, oftentimes even leaning on him- had a face of pure apathy.
"Why's… the armor on the turret ripped off?" Gladys asked. Quickly, Ribbans ducked down, and Carney muttered, "Those bloody… I did what I could!"
"I know, I…"
Gladys trailed off, her eyes once again catching on the corpse.
"…hear me?" Emma finished. Gladys blinked, then murmured, "I… s-sorry. Long night."
Emma hesitated, then nodded, "I guess so."
Gladys sighed, then greeted, "Hey Carney. Sorry I didn't see you earlier."
"All good," he said, "Had to command and whatnot."
Gladys nodded, then headed over and climbed into her cupola. She didn't turn in, though, even once Emma had managed to get through her hatch; instead, she called, "Otto!"
For a few moments, nothing. Then, she dipped down, grabbed the intercom, and said, "Carney, be a dear and shut the torches off."
"Are you mad?" Ribbans questioned just before she was able to simply unbutton, "I couldn't see anything."
"And you're not the TC who's done this for years, yeah?" Emma pointed out. Gladys sighed, then explained, "I'm baiting the German loader out."
Silence.
"Why's the loader coming out?" Emma questioned, "Hasn't he got a periscope?"
Ribbans chuckled a bit, and Gladys explained, "Their TC's gone, and it'd be best if we try to work together, right?"
Silence, again.
"They're a German," Ribbans said, "And since I've damaged them, they're on the other team. Y'know, we could probably take them out, too."
"If we work with them, they can take watch and we can sleep," Gladys promised, and Ribbans immediately nodded, "That'll do, then."
Gladys nodded, then did a small mental calculation, wondering whether Otto would have come out yet. Finally, she picked up the intercom and ordered, "Torches up."
She then got out of her cupola. Standing on the ground was Karl, fiddling with a mutli-kit. Gladys asked, "Sorry to bother, but what's your radio frequency?"
"Was?" Karl said. Gladys reiterated, "Radio."
"Dead," he answered, indicating Fritz, still dead on the ground. Gladys, of course, followed his pointing finger, and once again spaced out, seeing the dead body. She ended up staring hard enough that she noticed that the corpse still had its Mauser in hand, the finger merely an inch from the trigger.
"Could you get your acting commander, then?" she requested. Karl shook his head slightly, and she was worried it was going to be an outright refusal, before he smacked the tank's side a couple times. For a moment, nothing, then-
Boom!
Ribbans shot a something in the dark, but that was neither here nor there. Fortunately, the following few seconds of Gladys choking on the dust were just seconds she would've been waiting, anyways. And after a long while, the actual result of the smack came along; Jerry popping out from his hatch, and managed to quickly yell, "Sie haben uns die Ketten abgeschossen wir stecken fest!"
"Sie will mit dem Kommandanten sprechen!" Karl said, to which Jerry retorted, "Repariere die verdammte Panzerkampfwagen kette!"
"Hol den Kommandanten!" Karl retorted. Finally, Otto came out, worrying, "Was soll das ganze Geschrei?"
"Sprich mit ihr," Karl said, indicating Gladys. Gladys asked, "What's your radio frequency?"
"Fritz would know," Otto answered. Gladys sighed, then instructed, "I saw a hill earlier-
Boom!
God, just a little taste of spotting targets and Ribbans had gone mad with the free-fire- though, admittedly, Gladys was trying to negotiate in a warzone. Emphasis on trying; for a few moments, she just coughed.
"We're off to find a cave to rest in," she finally informed, "And if we stick together, it'll be safe."
Otto hesitated a moment, then informed, "Our commander would be furious. We can't."
Gladys sighed, then said, "Good luck."
She then dipped down, and ordered, "Carney, back us away, then pivot to the left."
As the tank jerked into motion, she instructed, "Ribbans, please at least say something before you fire."
"Well, the radio doesn't actually let us talk back," Ribbans reminded. Gladys sighed, then nodded.
Author's Note: I'd like to take a moment to thank the reviewer Cmedina1 for a valuable piece of insight; namely, that tanks do actually exist in Remnant. Specifically, they appear in an episode of RWBY: Grimm Campaign. Unfortunately, to the best of my knowledge, this is the only place they have appeared, and the episode is behind a paywall which I am too miserly to deal with. Thusly, I must sadly say that the section that this chapter begins with will probably be the only time that the Lotus tank gets mentioned, but I still sincerely applaud the reviewer for their knowledge and thank them for sharing that knowledge with me.