Cold. It was so very cold.

Then there was the wind. Howling and cruel. It blew with an unmatched ferocity that plummeted the air temperature to frigid, near inhuman levels. The snow that blanketed the Earth stretched to as far as the eye could see and was knee-deep. Overhead, the sky was overcast. It dulled everything down into something depressing. The world here was nothing but a mix of white from the snow, black from the exposed rocks, and gray from the clouds.

This was what Valarie experienced, a hellish polarscape at its most raw. She was in the middle of it all, equipped only with the cold weather gear that was doing its job decently enough.

As she walked the land, the crunch of the snow from her boots and the screams of the wind were the only things to be heard. Valarie trekked in a northerly direction for no reason other than some unspoken force that compelled her. The wind, already a force to be reckoned with, strengthened to extremes Valarie had never before experienced. It had manifested into a terrible storm that brought visibility down to a minimum.

In the middle of this blizzard, she thought little else other than to soldier on. The cold weather gear she wore was doing its job decently enough. She was uncomfortable, yes. But not miserable. The cold was putting up one hell of a fight, but one it would not win. But only just.

Then, something caused her to stop dead in her tracks. Amid the roaring wind and swirling snow was the far-off sound of the thud of a cannon. From the deep reverberations, she judged it was some heavy gun at least 75mm in caliber. Valarie roughly knew the direction of where it originated and, perhaps against better wisdom, opted to walk toward where that cannon fired. No more were ten steps taken when a burst of machine gun fire rang throughout the area, this one sounding closer than the cannon. Another burst followed right after, this time from a different direction.

What happened next was complete and utter pandemonium.

The ground shook as an explosion ripped apart the Earth, digging deep enough to throw up rock and dirt into the air. The force of it compelled Valarie to throw herself into the snow to get as low as possible. She did not dare to get up as the air above her then became full of scores upon scores of whizzing bullets.

From seeming out of nowhere, Valarie was smack dab in the middle of what looked like a tankery match. Without a tank of her own, there was no worse place on Earth to be. Moving in a stilted fashion, she slowly crawled forward. The explosions now were more frequent, and every now and again, she would be showered with debris. Roaring engines and the clacking of speeding tracks were heard all around her. This battle, whatever it was, wasn't two sides engaging one another from great distances. No, these were tanks locked in what was tantamount to a brutal melee.

Valarie couldn't dwell on why this match she was in the middle was so brutal when the ground began to rumble once more. She braced herself for another explosion, but this was different. The rumbling was sustained and steadily grew in noise. Only then did she realize what was happening. She risked looking up and ahead of herself to see, coming out from the blizzard, the silhouette of a tank heading right for her. Moving at speed, it was on top of her before she could even move a muscle. Most fortunately, she was right beneath the machine.

It parked right above her. The sounds of battle became muffled as the dominant noises now came from the tank. Valarie could intimately feel the vibrations of the engine as it lay idle. The next moment, the tank's turret traversed in a slow and methodical motion. Instinctively, Valarie covered her ears, and her intuition served her well as the war machine let loose a shot. The power of its cannon shook her soul, but what shocked her more was the familiarity of the gun. It was a 100mm cannon. The T-44's 100mm. It was her tank.

Smiling for the first time she got here, Valarie prepared to crawl out from under the tank. What stopped her was a quick screech before being immediately followed by the whole vehicle suffering a violent shudder. Then, she could feel the white flag popping out of the top.

Valarie let out a heavy sigh and allowed herself to drop face-first into the snow. Whatever was happening, it looked like it was over now. She couldn't hear any shooting, any engines, or anything for that matter. She wondered whether or not to even leave the spot she was in when the tank shuddered once more. Was it shot again? It couldn't have been, she thought. The tank was out, and the rules said an eliminated tank could not receive fire. However, whoever was out there did not care about the rules. Any of them. Moments later, the defenseless T-44 suffered a further hit. Then, one more. And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Then, nothing. After what seemed like an eternity of enduring a deluge of gun and cannon fire, it just ceased at the flick of a switch. Even the roaring wind had all but disappeared. Slowly, she crawled out from under the tank. When Valarie stood up, she was in another world. Not only did all the shooting stop, but so did the blizzard. In fact, it looked like there never was one to begin as the skies were as clear as clear could be.

Her attention was now turned toward the T-44. It was a near-total wreck. In all, she counted thirteen, and they have definitely left their mark. The armor was mutilated; chunks of it were simply gone. In other places, it was abnormally bent, bursting open some of the welds.

To see her tank, or any for that matter, in a condition like that was unnerving, terrifying even. Valarie's mind shifted to the crew, her crew. She realized at that moment she hadn't seen a trace of them, so she moved quickly and clambered up the tank to open the commander's hatch. Peering inside, she was stunned to see it was empty. Filled with confusion, she went inside. Everything was cold to the touch, as if it had never been used.

Amid this gaunt environment was a consistent beeping noise that Valarie had only just noticed. It was coming from the front, the driver's position. Crawling over there, she found that the beeping came from the driver's panel, which had all sorts of gauges and other information that reported the status of the engine. On this panel was a bulb that was flashing red and was the source of the beeping. But something was...off. All the writing on the panel, she couldn't read a word of it. What she saw wasn't a language. Gibberish was more comprehensible than the poor excuse of writing on that panel. And amid all this was the incessant flashing and beeping of the bulb. It was right in front of her face, so loud and aggravating. It was ringing in her ears. A ring that was getting louder…

So loud…

So damn loud…

.

.

.

With a jolt, Valarie was awoken in a daze. For a moment, she was puzzled over why she was submerged in pitch-black darkness when her faculties began to recover. After a bit of fumbling around, she switched on the lamp at the desk where she was sitting. On it were a multitude of papers and maps that, for a few hours, served as her pillow. Since last night, Valarie was not only pouring over the details for the team's upcoming match but also planning for practice. It must've been more of an exhaustive task than Valarie realized, as she had passed out right in the middle of work.

Feeling the strain of her limbs from sitting for so long, she stood up for a nice stretch, joints audibly cracking. Moving to her bedroom window, she pulled back the curtains to see the outside world. The ship was under a blanket of darkness that was on the precipice of being uncovered as dawn was no more than an hour away. Retreating back to her room, Valarie reached for her room to fetch her phone. She needed to get her bearings.

4:56 AM

Sat, Oct 12th

There was some time before practice for the day began in earnest. Enough to shower, have some breakfast, and, of course, do a bit more planning. She moved to organize the papers on her desk when a vibration took her attention. It was her phone. Viewing it again, she found that it was a text message from Madison.

"I know you're awake. Can you help me with something?"

That got a small smile from Valarie. Looks like she isn't the only one awake at such early hours.

"You know me. Doing everything but sleep. What's up?"

The response that came was short and nothing less than surprising. But what it conveyed meant a lot, and Valarie knew from the onset what her sister intended to do.

"Phone numbers. Everyone you have."


A Little Later

The Garage

Marielle would've never described herself as an early riser before. Still, ever since her appointment as the team's lieutenant, something 'clicked' in her mind that made waking earlier much more of an easier task. By 5:30 AM, not only was she already dressed in her uniform, but she was also at the garage. At this hour, it was a ghost town. Being the only one in a building filled with tanks can make a person feel small.

Why was she here so early? Practice didn't start for two hours, after all. Well, Marielle was struck with an idea the previous night. All while she was trying to sleep, it gnawed at her brain. She swore that, at times, she could hear the idea scream at her. And so, as soon as she awoke and got ready, she made her way to the garage to test her theory.

She stood before the Sherman Jumbo, studying it for a moment. Before coming here, she did some quick and, frankly, sloppy research. Nonetheless, from what she did dig up, the Jumbo was the best candidate. Climbing onto the tank, hands contacting cold steel, she entered the turret. The object of her interest was the Jumbo's coaxial machine gun mount. After a bit of fumbling, she managed to remove the .30 caliber machine from its place and set it gingerly on the floor of the turret basket. Smiling, she moved on to the fun part.

Exiting the Jumbo, Marielle made for the opposite side of the building. It was here that the team stored their supplies. Well over three dozen heavy-duty metal shelves housed motor oil, lubricant, nuts, bolts, and all manner of repair and maintenance equipment for any kind of situation. For bigger parts like spare track, they were simply left in their delivery crates stacked against a wall. Looking to her left, that was what she was looking for.

When the team first arrived at this garage, their first matter of business was to decide how to portion the interior space. Most of it, of course, was dedicated to the tanks. A smaller but sizeable portion was dedicated to repair and maintenance gear. But a quarter of the building was reserved for the team's diverse range of ammunition. The area for the ammo store stood out from the rest. It was cordoned off by a gate that spanned from the ceiling to the floor. The only way to enter the munitions locker was through a door locked by three padlocks that looked like they could shrug off a bomb. All these measures were necessary not only from a safety standpoint but also legally mandated by federal law.

Fortunately for Marielle, Valarie had entrusted her with copies of the three keys necessary to enter the munitions locker without issue. Passing through the door, she walked toward a specific section of the locker. On her way, she passed by a world of crates that contained practically every kind of ammunition under the sun, from spare smoke grenades to the high-explosive warheads for the SU-14. Leaving all these behind, she went for the shelves that held the team's spare machine guns. Suffice to say, there was a lot. Soviet guns, British guns, German guns, and a few French guns too. Though she was looking for one gun in particular. An M2 Browning .50 cal.

Being one of the heftier machine guns, Marielle had to lug the thing on her shoulder as she trotted back to the Jumbo. To even enter the turret with the gun in tow was something akin to a juggling act that involved a few near-slips. Thankfully, this day would be free from bruises and concussions. Inside the turret, maneuvering both her body and the large gun, Marielle managed to slip the .50 cal into the coaxial gun mount. To her satisfaction, the weapon was attached with no issue.

"Guess those history forums were right after all."

Marielle had learned the previous night that a few Shermans during the Second World War donned .50 caliber machine guns as their coaxial weapon of choice. As it was never something officially recommended by the U.S. Army, it was a rare modification done on the field at the discretion of individual tank commanders. The exact reasons why Marielle couldn't dig up. In a real war, coaxial weaponry was mainly for anti-infantry. Marielle guessed that turning an enemy soldier into a fine mist at the pull of a trigger was reason enough to use the .50.

Though what use can it bring to tankery?

Targets worthy of machine guns, regardless of caliber, are few and far between. For starters, there definitely isn't any infantry in a tankery match. That leaves soft targets such as foliage, other kinds of debris, and the tanks themselves. For the former, vegetation tends to be a non-issue, an annoyance at best. As for the latter, only in the most unusual of circumstances has a tank been brought down by machine gun fire alone. In the ninety-plus years of American tankery, from all levels, from elementary to the long-defunct professional league, machine gun knock-outs totaled eleven out of the thousands of other recorded eliminations throughout the near century of the sport.

Those eliminations only happened at all due to the fact that what was on the receiving end of machine gun fire were tankettes, a class of tank that really only sees use by schools strapped for funds. But scoring kills wasn't what Marielle had in mind when she first envisioned this idea. Instead, she took some inspiration from something she read in Valarie's playbook.

"That's psychological warfare, girl. Mess with the mind of your opponent and get them to do something stupid."

With that quote being underlined and circled in the playbook, Marielle figured it was something Valarie took to heart. The mind was just as much as a valid target as a tank. That was the justification behind Valarie's whole 'bullet storm' idea she had the team test some time ago. That was with low-caliber machine guns. Marielle now imagined a maelstrom of .50 cal fire all focused onto one target. What kind of hell would that be for the crew within? Enough for them to be mentally paralyzed and defenseless? That's not even to mention that a sustained enough volley from a heavy machine gun has more of a chance to break some tracks.

This is what Marielle hoped for, as long as Valarie gives the okay for this modification. Should she say 'yes', however, this change couldn't be something exclusive to Jumbo. To really take the full potential of heavy machine guns, as many of the team's tanks as possible ought to have this modification done. For the American tanks, there was, of course, the ubiquitous M2 Browning. As for the tanks that called other nations home, they would require a bit of out-of-the-box thinking. Marielle's tank, the VK 30.02M, would necessitate a German equivalent to the American .50 cal. However, the best candidate she was aware of was a weapon called the MG131, a heavy machine gun exclusively used by the Luftwaffe way back when. To make a gun meant to be used on fighter planes to work on a tank sounds a bit silly. That's because it was silly. Though, just because an idea was silly didn't necessarily mean it was pointless. Even the goofiest of ideas can have their good uses. And, besides, they sure as hell would up the cool factor.

Marielle began to clean up her work area when she heard the sound of a metal door opening and closing. Popping her head out of the turret, she looked and saw Gabrielle walking across the garage toward the office. She was carrying a large tote that looked like it was filled to capacity. Gabrielle soon noticed Marille looking at her and was startled, but only for a moment. She smiled and waved for Marielle to come on over.

"And here I thought Valarie was the early riser," Gabrielle joked. "So, what brings you here?"

Marielle gestured toward tanks. "Oh, I had an idea and just had to come in early to prototype it."

"What kind of idea?"

At that moment, Marielle felt only a little embarrassed to say. "Well…I came early today to see how well swapping a .30 cal with a .50 for the coaxial. I tried it out with the Jumbo over there, and it worked. What do you think? Is this a good idea?"

A warm feeling washed over Gabrielle, who laughed softly to herself. "You know, this takes me back. Back when I was in the game, tinkering around with tanks. God, that feels like a lifetime ago now. Your idea reminded me of something my old crew did. Something," she laughed again. "Wild."

Marielle looked on intently. "How wild are we talking about?"

Gabrielle couldn't hold back the laughter now. At that moment, she was not the middle-aged woman she was but back to her high school days. "This was like back in the 80s. My junior year. The gunner I had in my crew was a sparky blonde named Gracelynn. We all called her Gracey. If you thought you knew poverty, then you have never met her. The girl's family lived in a run-down trailer park. Five people crammed in one trailer. But despite that, it never let her down. One day, she had an idea similar to yours. But instead of machine guns, it was with rockets."

"Rockets? Like those on the Cromwell?"

"Smaller," Gabrielle specified. "She was the creative type. I guess from living in so much poverty, you had to be. Gracelynn didn't live too far from a junkyard. Over a weekend, she searched the place for the material she needed and got to work. Come Monday, she came to that day's meeting with the most excitement I had ever seen on a person. With her, she was carrying a huge pipe. And I mean huge. When she called the crew over, she showed us what she made. What she had…damn, I still couldn't believe it. She made this…this…"

"Well? What did she make?"

"She made a fucking rocket launcher."

Marielle went all wild-eyed, mouth agape. "No way, you're kidding?!"

"I kinda wish I was, but no. Though it was made with junk, it was well-made. And what's a launcher without rockets? She made some of those two using the propellant from our shells as the fuel and low-caliber AP shots as the 'warhead'."

"Did it work?"

"Boy did it," Gabrielle said. "The thing worked flawlessly. It fired a rocket a good fifty meters or so with superb accuracy."

"Why did she make it thought? What was the point?"

"Same reason why you swapped that .30 for a .50. More firepower. The idea was for it to be a 'last-resort' weapon. It was meant to be strapped underneath our tank's barrel. If we couldn't take out a tank with the main gun, then we'd use the launcher to finish them. Think of it like a shotgun. Brutal in short ranges."

Marielle snickered. "Bet the next match you guys were in was one to remember with that thing."

A sigh came from Gabrielle. "It would've been, but we never used it. We couldn't use it. In the days leading up to our next match, she test-fired the launcher multiple times. Now, Barstow was well used to cannon fire…but a rocket blasting off? That got people's attention. The school got a visit from the county sheriff. Those dudes came with the damn bomb squad. They came and took Gracelynn along with her project. As it turned out, building a fully functional rocket launcher is something the State of California doesn't like."

"Damn, so she was arrested?"

"Now, this part you really won't believe," Gabrielle said, her face showing the bewilderment from that time was still as fresh as ever. "She was back at school the next day! She was never charged! Those guys down at the sheriff's department were more interested in how she made it than charging her. In exchange for giving up her launcher and swearing never to make anything like it again, she was released. Just like that."

Shaking her head with disbelief, Marielle couldn't help but chuckle. "They did things differently back then, didn't they?"

"Well…," Gabrielle took a moment to think. "The more things change, the more they stay the same. The athletes come and go, but the crazy ideas always stick around."

"Crazy, huh?" Marielle looked disheartened. "So, I shouldn't go ahead with this machine gun thing?"

"Well, I didn't say that," Gabrielle thoughtfully looked to the team's tanks. "Your idea is much more straightforward than MacGyvering a rocket launcher. Hey, you heard of MacGyver, right?"

"I just know it's some old show," Marielle shrugged.

"Old to you," Gabrielle remarked with a huff. "The show was awesome. Still is awesome," the garage began to warm and illuminate from the rising sun. The team would be here soon. "Anyway, go right ahead with the machine gun stuff. Should be fun."

"Alright, cool!" she was about to leave, but Marielle remembered the tote Gabrielle was carrying. "Hey, whatcha got there? Baby stuff?"

"Oh, this?" Gabrielle innocently remarked. She lowered the tote to show to the teen. It was chock full of envelopes."

"Woah, why are you getting so much mail?

"Not my mail, but yours."

Marielle stared at her. "I am not that popular."

"But the team sure is," smiled Gabrielle. "Mojave Rose had always been receiving mail since our early days in the nationals. It started as a trickle, but once we scored our first win in the World Tournament, it became a flood that'd give Noah a run for his money. Literally every day, dozens of letters are delivered to the school back in Barstow. Once a week, all that mail is sent to me. Sorting through them all has kinda become a hobby for me."

"You read any of them?"

"As if I could resist."

"Well, what do people say?"

"Everything," Gabrielle answered softly.

"I see," Marielle eyed the mail for a moment. "Has Valarie read any of them?"

"No," she was quick to answer. "I hope you'll understand that she's not ready to read them. When I mean people say everything…I do mean everything.

"Right,"

The pair had their attention shifted by the opening of nearby doors. What came were members of the team trickling in as the start time for practice approached.

"Better get going now," Buchanan told her. "You have an idea to prepare and present, and I got a whole lot of letters to sort through."

The women shared a nod with each other and went their separate ways. Marielle couldn't dwell on the subject of the letters for long. In no time did the once-quiet garage explode into the activity of chatting teens, tools at work, and engines coming to life. It was time to get to work.


Midmorning

"Elevation at two-four degrees. Azimuth at one-three-five degrees."

The machine vibrated and shuddered as it made its movements to comply with the commands. A beast at nearly fifty tons, it moved slowly but surely. Soon, it maneuvered itself in the proper orientation, a jolt shaking the crew as the machine came to a stop.

"Double check the numbers, guys. We good to go?" the commander asked. In less than a minute, her loaders and gunners all gave the thumbs up. This wasn't their first rodeo. To the shock of many teenagers, they have grown to like math. "Fire."

Forty-eight tons of steel recoiled a good few feet as it withstood the immense power of a 152mm cannon at work. Though the girls were safely within the artillery piece, the rawness of the gun was still more than enough to deafen them for a brief moment. But it was something they had long since adapted to. In one quick action, one of the gunners depressed the gun to a neutral level and opened the breech. Quickly, the fighting compartment filled with smoke from the spent powder, and the now-empty casing was removed and safely stowed away.

"Target destroyed," a voice announced over the radio.

Jacqueline warmly smiled at that. Scoring a hit with the SU-14 was never an unsatisfying experience. "And to think that the purists don't want self-propelled guns in this sport."

"Sounds like a bunch of people who hate getting blown to hell and back from Heaven itself," joked Raven, one of the loaders. "Maybe they should practice not being out in the open."

The other loader, Abby, began to prepare another shell. "And with that RC jet plane of ours, safety isn't really a thing for those guys. Or anyone, for that matter."

"Make them fear a clear sky," Jacqueline spoke. "Calm one moment, hell the next. That is our mantra."

"That more describes our lives back at home," Gwen, a gunner, remarked.

"Really now?"

"Oh yeah! Me, Abby, Raven, and Amber. All together under one roof, sharing two bedrooms. Just ask our parents. Birthdays and Christmases are their D-Day."

Jacqueline visibly winced. "I keep thinking about what your mom went through during your guys' birth, and I violently shudder."

"You guys having a nice time in there?" spoke Lana over the intercom. Being their driver, she was isolated from the rest of the crew, with her position being a separate compartment up in front of the machine. Combined with the steel and the rumbling of the engine, she could only communicate through the intercom system.

Jacqueline adjusted her radio frequency. "Getting lonely, Lana?"

"Weeelll, yes and no," she replied. "On the one hand, having a break from those clones is good for my mental health. On the other hand...their chaotic energy is dangerously addicting. Pros and cons, ya know?"

"Chaos is the perfect word to describe this herd of sophomores. I think you need a dose of that for this crew to be great."

"They're more like an overdose," Lana laughed. "But I wouldn't have anyone else."

Through the radio came further orders. "New fire mission. Three targets at the listed coordinates. Rapid fire, rapid fire! Sorry, not sorry!"

"Oh…great," sighed Jacqueline, sinking into her seat. Her mood was shared by the rest of her crew. "Another one of these…"

"Lunch can't come fast enough," Raven muttered.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

At once, the whole crew got to work. Abby reached for a nearby rack to grab an HE warhead and laid it onto one of the loading docks. As she adjusted the fuse, her sister Raven grabbed a fresh shell and hefted the thing on the other loading dock. Like the team's IS-3, the SU was reliant on two-piece ammunition. In the SU's case, however, not only did they have to deal with much heavier munitions, but they had to rely upon a crane system within the combat compartment.

The shells for the 152mm used bagged charges for propellant. They were bags of rough burlap filled to the brim with cordite. A shell can accept, at most, three of these bagged charges. Kids being kids, after all, they always opted to fill those shells up with charges not just to maximize distance and velocity but, of course, to make the biggest boom.

With both propellant and warhead on the docks, Abby and Raven used their combined strength to turn the crank needed to hoist it up to the open breech. It had to be done one at a time, with the first being the warhead. The projectile was then shoved into the breech by Raven and Abby with a lengthy ramrod that was almost as long as the whole fighting compartment. Next was the propellant. The same steps were performed, though, when it came to inserting the thing into the breech, it required both gunners and loaders to slam the projectile with the ramrod so that propellant and warhead become one shell. After several laborious thrusts of the ramrod, the process was complete.

"Loaded!" all four sisters announced.

"Copy," Jacqueline remarked. She turned to the intercom. "Lana, get us orientated. Swivel to azimuth one-three-three degrees."

"Rog'," Up in front, Lana referred to her driver's panel, where a protractor and compass were mounted. She used this to accurately orient the hull of the artillery. It was something of her own design, very simply made but proud of, nonetheless. Tools that she once used to solve geometry homework now had a more impressive purpose. "We're pointing at 'em."

"Good, good," Jacqueline checked her map. She had scribbled down the coordinates of the targets.

Raven glanced at her before realizing something. "Hey, where's your tablet? The ones every commander got from Valarie's sister. Aren't they supposed to make this commander stuff easier?"

"It did for a bit. But it's broken now.

"What happened to it?"

"The fumes from the spent shell must've ruined the thing," Jacqueline shrugged. "I don't think a fancy iPad was meant to be used right next to an artillery gun."

"That's a whole lotta words to say you dropped it," Gwen joked.

Her commander glared at her, "S-shut up and start aiming!"

Now Gwen and Amber were up. The girls were situated on the left side of the gun, a space for their own. They do the needed math to calculate the ballistics of the shell. When they first started out in the team, the math required intimidated the pair. It appeared to be much more advanced than what they were used to, which wasn't much to begin with. But with enough practice, they not only understand how to do it but to do it quickly.

The girls checked each other's math to be sure and, once satisfied, worked the gunnery controls, one crank for the horizontal, another for the vertical. Gwen peers into her scope, which reports the angle of the gun. After a bit of tweaking, everything was all set.

"Ready!"

Jacqueline wasted no time. "Fire!"

Amber had perhaps the best job out of them all. With a firm pull of a cord, their labor is well rewarded. Their world shook as the cannon came to life and loosed a shell toward a target that wouldn't exist for much longer.

"Time to target, three seconds," Jacqueline reported. She paused for a brief moment, her crew in silence, before they all heard a muffled boom from outside. They didn't need to listen to any confirmation. All were confident in their work. "Alright, now the other two."

And so, they did it again.

Orient. Warhead. Propellent. Crane. Ramrod. Math. Aim. Fire.

And once more.

All this accomplished in no more than six minutes. Not too shabby of a performance, considering all the work needed to operate the gun. Though only three rounds were fired, the labor involved left the crew sweating through their uniforms and flowing down their foreheads.

"Valarie," Jacqueline pleaded. "…Can we break for lunch now?"

A hum came from the radio. "Yeah, I'm getting hungry too. Let's do lunch."

Whenever the Mojave Rose team had their lunch break, there was a spot out in the park they liked. It was a nice clearing among the woods that bordered a small lake. It was one of the few bodies of water in Inspiration Park. Though it was artificially made, much like the park itself, great efforts were made to make it all a perfect homage to the natural world.

Over at the T-44, Valarie and her crew were at rest. Most of them were, anyway. While Heather, Ashley, and Emma were chowing down on their packed lunches, Valarie was using the break time to stare at her playbook. By this point, it had become a thick binder filled with everything there was to know about the team.

"You ran out of things to write about?" Ashley asked.

Shaken from her concentration, it took her a moment to respond. "Huh? Well, no. I'm still planning out the Greenland match for later this month. But there is this other thing that has been on my mind..."

"That radio thing?" said Emma.

"It's still off," Valarie flipped through pages of her book. "There's a funk to it. Our radio comms aren't bad—they never were—but with me focusing hard on how we do it lately, I have noticed that it could be better."

"How?"

"You tell me," shrugged Valarie. "I keep thinking of more training, but how much more can we do? I already robbed the team of their whole weekend. Can't run this team into the ground, not when the match is getting closer by the day."

The sound of metallic tapping caused Valarie to turn to the side, looking down to see Marielle smiling.

"Valarie, a word?" she asked.

Hopping down, the girls were at eye level. "What's up?"

"I've been doing some research last night, and it got me thinking about machine guns. I think it'll do real good if we upgrade the team's coaxial guns."

"You want everyone to have .50 cals, don't you?" Valarie guessed.

At that, Marielle gave an enthusiastic nod. "Having beefed up machine guns could give us just enough of an edge in all sorts of situations. Plus," she smiled. "It would be pretty damn cool."

"They sure as hell would," agreed Valarie. Her face then began to show signs of hesitation. "I have thought of this idea before. In theory, it could work, though all the behind-the-scenes work needed to install the guns in the coaxial mounts would be...a lot. Some heavy-caliber machine guns weren't even meant for tanks. That's not to mention the price for some of these."

"Yeah...I did look into the prices," Marielle went on. "An American .50 cal is within budget, but that's because the thing is iconic. Every team wants a few of those, even if only for show. But something like a German MG 131 is a whole other story."

"In what way?"

"Only one company still makes them, so they're much more expensive," Marielle let out a huge sigh and fell back against the tank. She sported a clear look of disappointment, compounded by her tiredness from the day's practice. "Mrs. Redwood told me I shouldn't feel this way, but I feel like this whole idea is stupid."

That got a finger wag from Valarie. "I don't think it's stupid. Right now, the time isn't right. But, one day, I think it will be. We'll just have to wait and see."

That improved Marielle's mood. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

Valarie then shifted gears. "While you're here, mind helping me with something?"

"For sure,"

"I told you about this radio curiosity I have been noticing, yeah?"

"Once or twice or ten times now," Marielle replied with some jest.

Valarie giggled. "Yeah, well, it's been bugging me lately. And I've got no clue in how to solve it."

There was a shrug from Marielle. "Beats me. I'm sure that head of yours will come up with something sooner or later."

"Yeah..." Valarie said despondently.

Elsewhere in the area, another kind of conversation was taking place. Bordering the lake was Natalie's Jagdpanzer. Whenever the team broke for lunch, she always made sure to be closest to the water. It not only made for a scenic view as she ate, but if she was lucky, Natalie could see the imported fish breach the surface of the lake. She was so absorbed in fish-watching that she failed to notice Ray sitting beside her.

"Oh!" she said, startled. "You spooked me."

"I seem to be good at doing that by accident," Ray replied, smiling. He placed a lunch pail between them and zipped it open.

"What did you make this time?"

"Something simple. Made some Chicharrón pupusas last night and cooked them to be nice and crispy. Paired with some pickled vegetables that I have been making for some time now. Lastly, some aqua de Jamaica that I whipped up this morning."

"Something...simple, you say?"

Ray shrugged sheepishly. "Easy for me, I guess."

The couple went about having their lunch. As they happily munched on the meal, together they watched the fish at the lake live out their lives. To Ray, it was pretty fun. To see fish swim, leap, and sometimes hunt. To Natalie, loved each moment. She paid particular attention to how the animals moved and how they flexed their body to maneuver through the water.

"Have I ever told you about the one time my dad took me fishing?" Natalie said, breaking the silence.

"How do you fish in a desert?"

"Oh, shut up," Natalie teased. "This was several years ago, up in NorCal. During a summer break, Dad wanted a break from a heatwave, so he took Mom and me up north. He took us to a campground that was close to a river. I remember him being all cocky that he'd catch us a fresh fish dinner better than any restaurant could."

"And did he?"

Natalie laughed. "Nah. Not a single one. Then, I offered to try. He gave me a quick lesson on fishing pole handling, and off I went. Casted my line and waited."

"Was your luck any better?"

There was a sly smile from Natalie. "You could say that. I think maybe I was standing by the edge of the river for like twenty minutes or so before I felt my line tense up."

"Cool, you caught something!"

"No, more like I was the one that got caught."

"How do you mean?"

"The very next moment after my line got a tug, I was face first in the water," Natalie took a moment to laugh. "The fish I snagged was a fighter. It moved like crazy to get free, and in doing so, it made me fall into the water. I was soaking wet from head to toe."

"Did you lose the fish?"

"Nope. When my parents rushed over to pick me up, they were surprised to see that I still held on to the pole. Together, we reeled in that fish. It was a Chinook salmon, and a big one at that. Turned out that it was their migration season at that time."

Ray sported a proud look. "You ate well that day?"

"Fresh salmon cooked on a campfire..." Natalie hummed in pleasure. "Best. Dinner. Ever."

"I am so incredibly jealous," Ray remarked. "I never had fish that fresh before."

"Weeelll," Natalie then said with a hinge of excitement. "Maybe you can."

"Oh?"

Natalie whipped out her phone. "I just learned last night that this ship offers fishing expeditions. We can book tickets for a boat that'll take us out in open water. Anything we catch, we can keep!"

Ray's eyes lit up. "I love it."

"There is a catch, however," Natalie added, grimacing slightly. "Tomorrow is their last day of the season. 3PM to be exact, and you gotta be there at least half an hour early."

"So, be there by 2:30 then? Nat, we'll still be at practice that time tomorrow. Guess we're not going then..."

"You would think so, but..."

"What do you mean 'but'?" Ray questioned. "Are you asking to skip practice?"

"Of course not! Remember that time Valarie confronted Aurora and the others who did that tankathlon thing? I sure as hell don't want to personally meet that Valarie."

"So, how do we go on this fishing trip in time?"

"Best bet is for the team to finish early."

Ray stared at her blankly. "And how exactly do we do that?"

"Alright, so after lunch, we're doing a drill to help everyone get used to this squadron thing, yeah?". That got a nod from Ray. "So, I'm willing to bet that we'll do the same thing tomorrow. Plan is to do that drill super fast to get it down and over with."

"Hmm, that could work," Ray pondered. "We'd have to be on top of our game like never before. And even then, we'd be cutting it close."

"It would, but I think this team can manage."

"I'd like to think so, too."

Natalie slid a hand toward Ray's, and their fingers interlocked. The pair leaned against each other, both enjoying the view of the lake as the intense chatter of the team behind them sank to a murmur. For the present moment, it was just them. Two young lovers enjoying each other's company and looking forward to tomorrow.


Catalina's Dormitories

"Come on, answer."

Moments pass before the dialing tone gives way to a generic 'Please leave a message' uttered in a robotic tone.

"What a load of crap," Madison whined. "You having practice too? For what?" Taking a moment to breathe, she dialed the following number on the list. What occurred next was that blasted tone.

"The number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later."

"What a load of bullshit."

Right before the urge to hurl her phone right out the window became irresistible, there was a knock at her dorm door. Calming down a bit, she went to answer it. It was Alice who sported a pleased look on her phase.

"Oh, hey," Madison greeted. "What's the good word?"

"My dear Madi, the word is great," Alice said. "Today is a great day."

"How so?"

"You are looking at the newest journalist for the Catalina Cardinal!"

All the negative emotions Madison had felt up to that point melted away. The two girls joined hands and leaped together in celebration. This was a day long in the making. The Catalina Cardinal was the school's newspaper, whose standards are impeccably high. Not just any student can join the organization.

"How was the interview?" asked Madison.

"Good, but, God, was I sweating. Did you know the interviewers were college students from the Art College on the other side of the ship?

"No...really?"

"I'm not kidding. The Cardinal does not mess around."

"Geez. Well, so happy for you! We shall celebrate this in due time."

Alice was humming with glee, prancing around Madison's dorm. "This is a huge milestone, Madi. Today, the Cardinal. Tomorrow, the Sentinel over at the Art College. After that?" She couldn't contain the biggest smile. "A spot at places like the Washington Post or even...the New York Times!"

Madison took a moment to lay both her hands on Alice's shoulders and spoke gently to her. "Landing that New York Times gig probably won't be that hard...considering your mother works there."

Turning red, Alice looked away in playful embarrassment. "...Right."

"It's about time I'm the one bringing you down to Earth, hmm?" Madison teased.

The two friends shared laughter. Seizing the moment, Madison went to her minifridge and pulled out a half-full bottle of wine that was creatively hidden within. Glasses were poured, clinked, and enjoyed.

"God, I love a good wine," Madison remarked. "This French vintage is exquisite."

"Perfect for celebrating." Alice went on. She took another sip. "So, how was your day? Just chilling out?"

"Ugh, I wish," Madison put on a frustrated face. "I'm helping out the team in procuring some winter clothing. Most of the stuff is ordered sans some jackets. So, I thought, maybe the old teams they competed against would have what we're looking for. But guess what?"

"What?"

"Apparently, none of them can answer their damn phone!"

"Have you taken into account the time zone difference? You tend to forget that."

Madison gave her a look. "C'mon. Not always...only sometimes. Anyway, I did this time. It's not the middle of the night for them over there. But they aren't answering..."

"Could be a myriad of reasons. Phone turned off. In somewhere where there's no service. No willingness to answer an unknown number."

"True," Madison said, disappointed. Begrudgingly, she got out her phone and typed in one more number. "Lemme give it one more shot."

Dialing one more time, she fully expected to receive another 'phone number unavailable' message uttered in that robotic voice. Instead, she was in for a surprise. A human. Sort of.

"Hi! You called me, but I ain't here right now. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you real soon!"

Madison and Alice looked at each other, shrugging. "Hell, I'll take it. " Clearing her throat, she left a message and hung up.

"You think they will have what they need?" Alice asked.

"I pray that they do. I got nothing else if they don't."

Taking another drink of the wine, she put the bottle away. Madison then found and put on a coat.

"Where you off to?"

"Andromeda's dorm. She invited me over to see something."

"Consider that an honor...if you can call it that. If my memory serves, she never done such a thing before."

"Gee, I must be one lucky girl then," Madison adjusted her clothing for a moment and was now by the door. "I'm off, then. Feel free to stay here and drink more of that wine. Just don't finish it."

"Oh...I won't..."

Madison glared. "Don't."

"For real, I won't. Now go on to Andromeda and be sure to tell me all about it afterward. The details may be article worthy."

"If only half the rumors about her are true, then she's definitely front page worthy," Madison said.

With one final nod, the door closed, and off she went.


Andromeda's dorm was situated in another building right across from where Madison resided. A short walk later, she found herself at the girl's door. At that very moment, Madison felt a profound strangeness. That, despite Andromeda's dorm being identical to the many hundreds in her building alone, the vibes she felt just being outside was enough for her to acutely know it was uniquely her.

Madison didn't knock on Andromeda's door right away. She got as close as she possibly could without touching it. Paying close attention, she could hear a faint rhythmic tapping that stopped briefly every so often before resuming. Her curiosity heightened, so she knocked on the door.

"Enter," the reply was quick.

Walking into Andromeda's dorm, Madison was confronted with a heavy darkness broken only by the illumination of several candles dotted around the room. The only exception was the desk lamp pointed right at Andromeda. She wasn't in casual clothing, as one would expect on the weekend. Instead, the girl was in full coveralls with a leather apron strapped on and thick gloves. In her hands were what appeared to be some kind of dark stones.

"Welcome," Andromeda said, continuing her work on the stones. "Here for what I plan for that shell you gifted me?"

"Uh, yes," Madison responded, sauntering around the dorm. She noticed the windows were entirely covered with black-out curtains. "You like it dark in here, huh?"

"The darkness is an enthralling feeling. Always omnipresent. It was dark when everything started. It'll be dark when everything's finished."

"After a few trillion trillion or so years, I suppose," remarked Madison. "So, what are you doing with those stones?"

"Flintknapping, a prehistoric practice of tool making. Every early human culture develops a form of it at some point in their histories. It's a universal human experience. So intriguing, yes? Proof to me of the connected human consciousness."

"Tool making? Well, that is cool."

"And this is not stone," Andromeda corrected. "But proper dragon glass."

"Dragon glass...oh, you mean obsidian?"

Andromeda nodded as she worked the glass. A chip here and a scrape there where she then blew on it, removing the finer particles. She beckoned Madison to come closer and handed over the finished product. An obsidian blade.

"Wow," she said in awe, holding the object with supreme care. "This is amazing. How long did it take you?"

"No more than an hour."

"That fast?"

"I've made many blades."

Madison chuckled to herself as she examined the blade. "I don't find that surprising."

"Careful now. When worked on, obsidian is sharper than a surgeon's scalpel. It'll draw blood without you even noticing."

"Right," Madison returned the blade. "I bleed once a month already, rather not do more than that."

That got a smile from Andromeda. "That we can agree with," she then put her flintknapping tools away and cleaned her desk. "Now, time for that shell."

"I have been curious about what you intend to do with it for ages now. What have you done with it?"

"Nothing yet," Andromeda said, going to a nearby chest and hefting up the 76mm AP shell. It was placed vertically on her desk. Her lamp was adjusted so that all light was focused on it. "A fine specimen. This will work nicely."

"What's the plan?"

"You'll see."

With a marker, Andromeda sketched an 'X' on a specific spot on the casing. Once that was done, she reached into a bag on the floor. Digging around a bit, she pulled out a power drill.

"What...are you...doing?" Madison questioned. Andromeda often made little sense before, but what was happening now was a new level.

"Working," was the simple answer.

The drill was powered on and went to work. With two steady, firm hands, a hole slowly was bored into the side of the shell. All the while, Madison watched with increasing concern. Her mind became an anxious wreck as she feared the friction of the drilling would be enough for the shell to go off. But before she could even think of stopping Andromeda, she was already done.

"Perfect."

"Oh, thank god," Madison finally breathed. She didn't even realize she was holding her breath the whole time. "I hope that's as dramatic as it gets."

Andromeda hummed in the affirmative. "That's part one done. Now for part two."

"And that is?"

Grabbing a bowl, Andromeda began to pour out the gunpowder from the shell into it. It took time and a lot of shaking, but she soon got every bit out of it. At the end, there was one full bowl and a now-lighter tank shell.

"Alright," Madison said, a bit confused. "You got the powder out. What will you use it for?"

Andromeda didn't answer right away. She took her time to inspect her handiwork. She brought the bowl closer and took a few sniffs. The powder had a strong, metallic, and, more importantly, distinct odor. Then, she placed grabbed a small handful and rubbed it against her palm. The texture was akin to sand, and it left behind a gray coloring. Both traits were precisely what she wanted.

"I now ask from you a complete and total silence," Andromeda said to her. "Simply watch, and it will become clear."

All Madison could do was nod and observe.

Opening her desk drawer, Andromeda withdrew a piece of fine paper. By appearance, it had a slight tinge of yellow from age, the edges uneven, and rather thick. Hallmarks of handmade paper that Madison guessed were done by Andromeda herself. On this paper, she carefully applied adhesive, followed by a portion of the powder arranged in a dot. Andromeda repeated this numerous times, creating a dot pattern organized in lines. Half an hour of pure concentration later, she finished it all by coating the dots with a resin to protect her work. At last, she handed the paper to Madison, who treated it with more care than the obsidian blade.

"Now this," she began. "This is art right here. Like, wow!"

Andromeda reclined back in her chair, basking in the satisfaction of a job well done. "Try and guess what it is."

Madison examined the paper. "All these dots written in lines...like they're...sentences?" her face lit up. "Did you write this in braille?"

"I've been spending all semester learning the language. I like to think that I now have mastery over it."

Madison began piecing things together, and she began to smile. "This is meant for someone, isn't it? It's a gift."

"It is. It's for Ben."

"Ben..." Madison was in deep thought. "Benjamin Kindle? I know him from last year. I didn't know he was blind. I remember him having the thickest glasses."

"He has a genetic deformity where he was already born with cataracts in his eyes. It was only a matter of time. When you saw him last year, it was the last year he could really see. Now? Everything's a harsh blur that continues to deteriorate. Glasses can't help him now.

"Oh," Madison was crestfallen.

"Ben has become a recluse as of late. He's still coming to terms with this new normal. This poem I wrote for him, I hope, will make him feel better."

"I bet it will. What did you write for him?"

Andromeda placed a finger on Madison's lips. "That's for him to know alone."

Madison accepted that. "Fair enough. Can you at least explain why a tank shell was needed for all this?"

"His mother was once an athlete."

"You mean she did tankery?"

"Yes, and quite a prolific one. She was once in the professional league when that used to be a thing before it all went defunct. He has fond memories of his mother telling him all sorts of stories."

"No kidding?" Madison was amazed. "The thought put into this is as impressive as it is touching."

Andromeda nodded with a pleased look on her face. "When he reads the poem, he will be met with two sensations. One is the texture of the powder as he runs his fingers through the words, and the other is the distinct order that will flood his mind with nostalgic memories. I am going to make him smile again."

"He is going to love it. So, when are you going to give it to him?"

"Tomorrow, for his birthday. Relatedly, I ask for one more thing of you. Well, it's not me asking, but him."

"What is it?"

"Every time Ben and I are together, he often shares with me his desire to be close to tanks again. He hears the distant thundering of guns from Mojave Rose, but he wants his bones to shudder from their booms, to breathe in the engine fumes, and get 'stuck in', as he says it."

"Oh, I think that'll be fun!" Madison exclaimed. "Yeah, he can show up. Valarie won't mind."
"Good! This will be his best birthday yet," Andromeda said. "I cannot thank you enough."

"Don't mention it. It's an honor," she said. At that moment, she felt a shudder in her pocket. Getting her phone out, she saw that she was getting an incoming call from an unknown number and answered it. The conversation was short and ended after only a minute or so.

Noticing her growing grin, Andromeda couldn't help but ask. "Good news, I take it?"

"The best," Not a moment later, her phone was getting another incoming call. "And it keeps getting better."