"So…"
"Mm-hm. Then for here…"
"... Yeah looks about right."

Raising her head, Amelia breathed with relief. "So this is what we'll be doing?"

Lipponen nodded with approval. "For now, yes. The first few days will be spent practicing and getting familiar with our assigned tanks and roles. We'll be covering the basics and move on from there."

"Just like school lessons: start easy, then steadily get more advanced," remarked Frederick as he surveyed Amelia's work. "Question is, what would be the exams…?"

"Oh don't sweat that part for now," cheerfully assured Lipponen. "For the time being, this is Lion Paw tankery club's schedule for the rest of this week. Well done, Ms. Gunther - or perhaps it should be President Gunther?"

Amelia gave a sheepish smile. It had only been minutes since her informal inauguration to club president, the occasion still lingering like adrenaline. She had traversed uncharted territory but with two guidances she had made her first milestone: laying the important foundation for the whole club to be built upon.

The Gunther girl picked up the pocket calender, the once pristine untouched canvases of parchment white arranged by days and dates now filled with jotted notes. The graphite and ink were still fresh as Amelia laid her first decrees as club president.

"So this is pretty much what I have to do… get everyone to follow the schedule as best I can."

"Correct, Ms. Gunther," the teacher confirmed with a smile. "The key duty of club president is establishing a set routine for the club. Getting everyone to follow you sounds difficult and it often is, but now it doesn't sound so complicated, right?"

Amelia shook her head in agreement. "No, it doesn't. Thank you!"

Frederick smiled, the work his own as much as it was for the promising young girl. "Remember that nothing sounds bad if you can break it down into manageable chunks. And more importantly, remember that you've got us to help you out."

"You are absolutely right, Mr. Potter!" their advisor eagerly concurred. "Things are only hard if we believe they are. Oh and speaking of hard, you will be happy to hear that even if you are the club president, there'll be some responsibilities that you can entrust to me!"

Amelia tilted her head. "Stuff like…?"

"Well, complicated stuff like managing the paperwork!" explained Lipponen. "As your representative of the school faculty, it will be my job to take care of the, um, teacher… faculty things. The complicated stuff! Oh and I will also be taking care of the club's budget, make sure we get the things we need."

"Looks like you got your work cut out for you then," nodded the boy. "Come on. Let's get today's agenda started. So what're we doing today?"

Amelia put on a bright sunny expression, both at Frederick's question which came with an air of tease and at the answer that she already knew. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't looking forward to it at the slightest.

"More tankery practice!" she happily proclaimed.

The rumbling of engines. The creaking of wheels and treads over dirt. The faint crunches of twigs and branches. Dust filling the air in swirls and wisps. On occasion a loud crack would erupt, flocks of birds rising in tune with the climaxes before the echoes faded away into nothingness, the original ambience taking over once more. It was thus that the fields outside of school became home to the sight and sounds of Lion Paw National High School's tanks once more, treading on familiar ground as they had yesterday.

Sitting cozy in her seat, Abbie could not be any more delighted to be inside of a tank again. "Man, days like these really pump me up and turn my day around."

"Well enjoy them while you can," Frederick grunted as he went to work tiding up the shells by his legs, the stowage arrangement forcing him low for access. "Keep in mind club meetings are only five days a week. And we still have studying and homework to do."

The girl groaned. "Ugh, don't remind me Freddie. Algebra's always been a pain in the ass…"

Her tall friend snorted. "Speaking of math, you understand the guide?"

Abbie sighed as she pulled up the single laminated sheet. Printed beneath the shiny plastic skin was a series of instructions and steps, punctuated by diagrams which Abbie recognized through what time she spent peering through the eyes of her Type 37's gun. Given to all gunners as their "cheat-sheet", the paper was the step-by-step guide on the basics of fine aiming.

The redhead quickly skimmed through the instructions before tossing them aside, her attention finding favor with the gun controls. Through her peephole, the firing range came into view, the ridge their target. But today, the battered and cratered soil now bore a new hastily applied mark: a painted square and dot that denoted the specific objective in today's practice.

As Abbie adjusted her reticle, Frederick chimed in to resume his assistance. "So, first things first. Have you determined the range?"

"I dunno." Abbie squinted as she tried to remember. Or worse, she tried to do the math in her head. "How big was the stupid thing again?"

"Um… one meter?" guessed Amelia as she mimicked her gunner's expressions in an effort to help. Although she came clear within the shared confines of the tank's turret, a particular mic around her neck transmitted her voice for all ears now home to antiquated but functional headsets. As Amelia pressed lightly on her throat mic as instructed by their teacher, she couldn't help but feel strange wearing what felt like a collar tucked under her bandana. "I think that was what Ms. Lipponen said when she told us to make those marks."

"Yep. One meter wide and one meter tall," confirmed Katrin from below the turret.

"Okay. So use the notches around the center reticle to compare," instructed Frederick. "Those notches have their own unit of measurement (something you've hopefully remembered before tossing the guide away), so compare the size of the target with those notches. Divide the target size by them, then multiply by a thousand to get the distance."

Abbie scrunched up her brow as her mind churned the info like a blender that was cranked by hand. "One, divided by, ugh… times a thousand is…"

"And then raise or lower the gun to line the target up by those numbered lines. They're measured in kilometers so whatever answer you got, line it up by those numbers and then-"

"Um, Frederick? I think Abbie's crashed."

The Potter boy leaned in to see that she had indeed "crashed". Abbie sat stiff but not frozen in her seat, the only overt signs of life being her gentle but incessant rocking and droning groan. The two could even swear there was smoke leaking from Abbie's hair.

Frederick sighed. "Of all times for her to be like this…"

Amelia scooted close, fascinated by the catatonic state of her friend even as she prodded and poked at her with her finger to no avail. After a cursory evaluation, a new thought sparked in her head. "I get it! She's just like a computer. Abbie-dot-exe has simply stopped responding so we need to reset her. Where's her reset button?"

"Hang on. I got this." Hoisting a shell, Frederick promptly slid it into the breech. Familiar with the motions the deed was done in a snap, his newly-gloved hands a blur. "Round loaded, ready to fire!"

Like a spell, Abbie snapped awake. "Huh? Oh I can shoot? Great!"

"Um, hey wait-!"

*Boom!*

The tank shuddered as the cannon blasted fire. When the shaking subsided, the only person who was all smiles was their gunner who cackled jovially. "Aww yeah! That's much better."

"Same won't be said for your aim," grumbled Frederick as he collected himself. He frowned as he dusted off his uniform which at this time still remained the school student attire. While not minding the dust and dirt, he hoped there would be at least something more suitable for the extracurricular. "Also protip: don't forget to call out when you're going to shoot. Or at least wait until Amelia tells you to as she's our commander now…"

"Teehee! Sorry 'bout that Amy!"

"It's okay," reassured the brunette. Even after having deliberated last night, Amelia had forgotten about her brand new promotion. Caught in the moment, Amelia had to remember that she was now club president and leader of her own tank. But right here, she was just Amelia - tankery newbie still learning the ropes and getting into the swing of things. Here in the tank, she still felt like one of the crew who were all learning as she was.

Here, in the company of friends she didn't feel any different.

Elsewhere down the range, another cannon awaited the chance to deliver thunder.

Within their Type 15 light tank, Zak trained his sights on the target. The gunner's guide in hand, he needed not to glance away to make his adjustments.

Reaching for the device around his throat, he spoke into his mic. "Alright, you ready?"

"Already ready!" his sister Rachel called back from below. Absent of a mic of her own, her reply came energetic to compensate.

"Okay." Putting the guide aside, Zak hopped out of the gunner's seat to reach down. Gingerly fishing out a small and stout shell, the Darcsen boy cradled it back up to the turret where the open breach waited for it. Shoving it aside, the mechanism closed shut. Preparations confirmed, Zak climbed back onto the gun controls where his finger made for the trigger.

"On the way!"

The gun fired, the stubby gun still finding punch against the weight of the Type 15. Their gun's roar contributed to those that came before, small compared to all others but a respectable addition of their own.

The smoke cleared and as did Zak's vision, he made out the sight of a fresh pockmark over the painted target. A new crater that sprayed dirt and dislodged the paint, the impact eroding the mark. Zak smirked with approval.

Rachel glanced up at him from below. "So how'd it go?"

"Not bad. Not a bulls-eye, but managed to land somewhere on the thing… Can't say the same for our friends over at the Type 37."

The two siblings shared a snicker at their private joke before Zak scooted off from his chair again. "I'm feelin' a little lucky today. Gonna have a another go."

The Seamer boy then repeated the procedure: descending down into the depths of the tank's hull, retrieving a brass shell, and carry it back up to the simmering gun breech. Halfway up his ears were graced with a new voice.

"Hey Zak. How's it going?"

The purple-haired boy paused as he nudged the shell onto his arm, reaching towards the tank's radio set with the other. Adjusting the channel, Zak replied back. "Yeah pretty swell here. What's up, Amelia?"

"Oh um, pretty good here. Just felt like checking up, see how you were doing."

"Heh. Trust me, that knockout punch yesterday was crazy but even I was surprised by how quickly we bounced back. It was like nothin' happened."

Even through the airwaves, he could picture their club president smiling with content. "That's great! Oh and nice job with that shot of yours. Keep it up!"

Zak couldn't refrain himself from cracking a grin. "Will do. Zak out."

With the call over, he returned to heaving the shell back up. Even with its diminutive size, a solid lump of metal proved quite the weight for the boy's arms. He hefted the round up, completing the loading cycle with a relieved exhale. He thought about clambering back up to the gunner seat but stopped to catch his breath, a new insight taking root in his mind. Zak looked towards the commander's seat that had been long vacant since the the exercise began, the ring of viewports sitting unused. He glanced back at the gunner's seat in front of it before turning his eyes to the open cabin that tied the turret and hull together with the gun and its appropriate ammunition.

The Seamer brother now had to realize that he had perhaps bitten more than he could chew.

"Hey Rachel?"

The sister peeked behind, wondering what this was about after the period of silence. "Yeah?"

Zak gestured his head to the boxy comms set tucked towards the back. "... Do you think you can handle the radio from now on?"

To this, Rachel could only sigh.

With the firing practices satisfied (and the ridge of dirt sufficiently pulverized), Amelia felt it was time to move on. "Um, okay, next thing we should practice on is um, maneuver drills! We'll be driving along the path that goes in and out of the woods."

The thunder fell silent, the training field suddenly deafened by their absence. But where the cracks and roars of cannons faded away, the sounds of engines that continued to hum in the air took their place. The ambience of tankery still remained as club practice continued.

That same atmosphere surrounding Zak went unnoticed as he checked one last time. "Okay, looks good." He quickly confirmed his opinion with a thumbs-up.

Inside of her Type 29, Annabelle caught the signal. Gripping the controls, she wrenched the gears to their intended positions before promptly stomping down the pedal. The tank destroyer's engine woke up with a loud snarl as gears and wheels turned back. The vehicle lurched back but stopped cold, the cable extending from the front tow hooks snapping taut. Both Annabelle and the engine growled as she strained, trying to will her tank to pull against the weight. Treads and wheels grinded against the dirt as the Type 29 slowly but agonizingly tugged a Type 15 out from a ditch.

Within her own Type 15 light tank parked off to the side, Rachel could see the slightest gains be made. "Okay, it's working. It's working!"

"Miss Nelson, it's working," Timothy relayed with cherubic enthusiasm.

"Of course it is!" the twin-tailed commander/driver proclaimed. "How could it not when the most important task has been relegated to I, Annabelle Victoria Nelson?! Student extraordinaire, luminary of tankery, repeating co-champion of the firing range! There is nothing someone of my caliber cannot accomplish!... Still wished this auspicious contraption was stronger, or that they would contribute in some way…"

Obediently, Timothy passed on the intent. "Hello Landzaats, this is Miss Nelson's porter speaking. She would like you to help out. Is there something you can do?"

"Hello to you too, this is Wilheim Landzaat speaking," a voice answered, playing along. "I'll see what we can do. Please be on hold."

Putting aside their radio, Wilheim glanced down past her brother. "Mariah dear, can you put us in reverse?"

Their driver sniffed as she complied, fumbling the controls. Behind her Lukas helped her out. "Unlock the stick then shift it way back where the reverse gears are. Don't forget to lock it in place when you do."

"I- I won't…" Mariah mumbled.

"It's okay," comforted Wilheim. "It's not your fault we ended up at a ditch. We have nice people helping us so let's return the favor, okay?"

"Okay," the timid girl accepted.

Together the two tanks worked in cohort, the grunt from both motors succeeding in freeing the stricken light tank from its predicament.

Cresting over the ridge, Amelia saw the Landzaat's tank become unditched. The sight of three teams coming together made for an unprecedented moment. Though she had intended for the teams to partake in driving exercises, she was pleased to witness people put aside their expected tasks for the sake of helping each other. It was a surprise, but a heartwarming one.

But as she fancied the thought of commending everyone for their camaraderie, Amelia heard the crunch of treads and creaking of wheels by her side. She turned to see the blue skin of their club's only other light tank, the Type 25. Making eye contact with their commander Wyker at the top of their tank, the Type 25 with its more slanted dimensions cemented the feel of adventure and daring.

"Hey Amelia!" the Inglebard boy hollered with a wide grin.

"Hey Wyker," the brunette returned with a more restrained greeting. "How's it coming along for you?"

"Barely a sweat. Shooting at the range was nice, but sailing with the wind is the thrill I'm looking for!" Then Wyker's smile grew as the two tanks met side-by-side along the trail. "So… wanna race?"

Bafflement spread on Amelia's visage. "Huh? Race? Well-"

"See you on the other side!" whooped the boy as his tank lurched ahead with haste. The radiator glowed brighter as the Type 25 sped away, leaving behind Amelia and her Type 37 in their dust-covered wake.

Frederick furrowed his brow as he peered through his periscope. "What the…"

"Hey, what are we doing?! Let's go after them!"

Their driver Daniel looked hesitant. "Uh, I'm not sure…" he murmured, half-bracing himself for the familiar feel of a foot against his back.

"... Go for it, Daniel."

"Huh?" Daniel turned his head in surprise, astonished that he wasn't the only one baffled at Amelia's response.

"It'll be alright," assured their leader. "Just think of this as part of the exercise. Except sorta fun."

The Czherny boy was unsure of what to make of this arbitrary decision, but knowing he had the confidence of their friend he quietly acquiesced. He remembered the same faith given to him from yesterday's live-fire exercise, how he had reciprocated that trust in the young Gunther…

With a deep breath, he gathered his resolve and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Okay, it's on now…" Sliding the gear stick into place, Daniel pressed down on the pedal and decided that, just once, they would indulge in some antics.

The whine of the engine grew into a growl. Pistons and turbines worked frenetically, the driver seeing the numbers on the speedometer transform as the transmission fed the increased engine power directly into the wheels. He wasn't sure how fast he could go but he was about to find out.

Up ahead, Wyker basked in the feel of the wind flying past his face. But as he enjoyed the sensation of the breeze, he heard a sound that wasn't from his tank. Gradually, the presence picked up until it became clear that something was going on. Turning around, Wyker was graced by the appearance of a great blue bulwark that was the Type 37 quickly catching up to them.

His astonishment became excitement as he chuckled. "They've caught up to us. Let's get it on, ye landlubbers!"

"Full speed ahead-!" came Nina's emboldened cry.
"-Damn the torpedoes!" finished Tina.

"Unfurl the sails, corsairs! We got the wind to catch!"

From the safety of her cupola, Amelia watched the chase unfold. Quick-footed as their Type 37 had been last time, she now found its speed to be unlike anything she had seen before. A mass of steel built for war yet shocking swift; armor and power was guaranteed by the sight of tanks but it was their mobility that amazed Amelia the most. But even as fast as they were now, she saw Wyker's Type 25 dash off ahead.

"Daniel, they're- Ah!" Amelia felt the bump as their tank accelerated after them, their speed reaching new heights. She hastily decided it was better to keep quiet, hang on, and place their surety on their driver.

The two tanks zipped and raced along the set path, gliding through the woods with wings made of caterpillar tracks. But in the winding curves of the dirt road, Amelia saw the Type 25 hurtle with reckless abandon, any and all pretense of a controlled and deliberate drive thrown out the window as it bounded to and fro, in and out from the foliage. Even as it did follow the route, the light tank swerved about left and right with disregard for what it was meant for. The wild motion was compounded by the top speed it clung to.

Seeing the same oddity, Katrin couldn't help but crack a joke. "Hey Wyk, where's the fire?"

Over on the radio, the boy merely laughed. "Sorry missus, but we left the stove on. You know how it is."

Daniel concentrated as he raced after the pirates, his eyes fixated on the road and their swerving vehicle. Every so often, the Type 25 would dart across them as an obstacle for him to consider as he sped along the forest path as best as he could. The sensation of speed and that of their opponent tempted Daniel into the chase as he gunned the engine, tapping into the potential that he knew it had. But powerful as it was promised, the Type 37 was made to eat the light tank's proverbial and sometimes literal dust as it zigzagged aggressively in front of them.

The Czherny boy suspected that there was a method to their madness. The Type 25 crew's driving was erratic and nimble but not foolproof. He kept steady on his speed as he encroached close to the light tank, coming a hair's breadth from its fenders. "They be licking at our rudders!" Wyker called out as he spied the universal tank approach. "Tina!"

His driver grunted as she pressed her foot against the pedal. "She's giving all she's got, Wyk!"

"Turn up ahead!"

Whirling around at Cindy's call, an idea popped in Wyker's head. "You see a turn, I see a chance for a shortcut! Where we go there's no tide too rough for us!"

"Aye-aye!" chanted the crew. With the yank of a stick, Tina sent the tank careening off to the side, nearly tipping the vehicle over as it crashed through the thicket. The foliage did little to impede the force of the speedy and light-weight tank as it rammed off-course.

Wyker maintained his cocky demeanor even in the bumpy ride. When compared to their previous exploit, the tank practically glided over the myriad of roots, soil, and mounds. "Now that's how it's done!"

"Easy-peasy-"
"-Lemon-squeezy!" the Sellers twins sang.

"Who knew it would be this easy for our corvette?" Wyker continued. "Full speed ahead no matter where the wind takes us. No tree, no ditch, no nothing's ever gonna hold us back from claiming the seas (or land for that matter)! This'll be how us pirates roll!"

Overcoming the final ridge, the Type 25 came bursting out from the thrush. It emerged into the clearing, the treads briefly finding air before it met open ground with a heavy stomp. Tracks still spinning fast, the privateers' tank grinded about before regaining its footing.

"That be the ticket!" laughed Wyker. "Now let's…"

The noise of crackling crescendoed, ambushing him with loud snaps of vegetation crushed underfoot. A shadow enveloped him and for a moment the wild-haired boy wondered just what it was that blotted out the sun in an instant.

The answer arrived with a resounding thump as thirty-plus tons of metal landed back down to earth alongside the light tank. Wyker reeled as his tank rocked from the dynamic entry of the Type 37 landing nearly on top of them. At the helms station, Tina scrambled to recover. But with the stunning arrival and the weight of the universal tank giving them no quarter, they had no choice but to concede the lead to Amelia and her crew as they zoomed off ahead.

Even with a decisive outcome, Amelia found herself breathless by it. "Whoa, that was wild!"

"Hell yeah, Danny!" cheered Abbie. "You da man!"

Their driver exhaled with drawn-out relief. "I-it was nothing. Just figured we had the engine power to make it through like they did. But I could've messed it up."

"I'm sure Wyker would agree… or maybe not," Frederick remarked.

"But what matters is that he didn't," Katrin added, smiling at Daniel's direction. "For something as heavy as this you actually managed to pull it off. Though I'm sure you figured it would if you got this going fast enough. I'm surprised you even managed that; must be your top record!"

Daniel blushed from the compliments. "Maybe… But I don't know," he mumbled. "Engine power's good but I feel like there's more to it. I was just a little worried about hitting them to even think about that."

"Is that so…" wondered Katrin. Like many, she held onto the myth of tanks being armored behemoths as opposed to speedy racers. But she had seen their Type 37 dispute that assumption with its performance, and from what she saw in what time she had tinkering about the insides, there was immense potential within the vehicle. But to what the limit was, Katrin wasn't sure - she couldn't see how fast they were going when they romped through the woods.

As the tank settled down and the engine calming, Amelia took a breather. She checked the time on her phone. "Okay, I think it's about time. Call the others and let them know that it's nearly time to wrap this up."

Checking through her jotted list, Amelia found a sense of satisfaction awaiting her at the bottom. Although the itinerary consisted of only two notes for the agenda ("Practice shooting" and "practice driving" which she admitted in retrospect would repeat often in the ensuing days save for exceptions such as "basic maintenance", "fire & maneuver lessons," "readiness drill", "group study session", "club holiday", "show & tell", and "elect yourself as club president"), Amelia was pleased to find both of them sufficiently fulfilled before late afternoon.

She closed the personal calendar shut. "Well, that would be everything for today."

"Wonderful work, Ms. Gunther!" Lipponen commended with a beaming expression. "First day as club president finished, even with time to spare!"

"I wasn't rushing things, was I?" Amelia asked.

"Not at all! So long as the club members are fulfilling their tasks, all is well. And I must say, you did a fine job getting everyone participating."

The Gunther daughter looked aside in fluster. "Thank you. I'm just glad I get to work with wonderful people."

Lipponen smiled fondly at the statement. "Me too. I'm grateful for all the wonderful young pupils that gave my dream a chance."

Amelia felt her cheeks redden. But as embarrassing as it felt, she was touched by the praise. She looked on towards the outdoor lot to catch all those who also deserved it. Gathered with their tanks back into an orderly formation from whence they were, her fellow club members mingled. With their fellow crews or with those outside, it mattered not as they counted the few remaining time to socialize and recount their experiences.

She gazed warmly at the others, her friends, until she felt Lipponen's own eyes on her. Amelia peered towards her only for Lipponen to nod her head. "Go on, say what you would like to say," she beckoned.

Turning back towards the group, Amelia approached them. Her presence became immediately known as everyone took heed of her, their words and thoughts put on hold in acknowledgement of their elected leader. Amelia felt the multitude of eyes upon her as she considered her words.

"So um great job, everyone! Great work with practice; you all did pretty well. I know it was basic stuff but they're important, you know?"

Amelia tried to laugh but found herself feeling awkward at her own attempt at humor. In the stifling lull, her thoughts fumbled for what to say next.

"Ehh, sorry. Just… trying to tell you all that you did a good job today but I, er guess I should've just told you that from the start."

"Don't sweat the details, Amelia," called Frederick from the crowd. "We're not expecting grand speeches or anything."

"Oh I do beg your pardon," interjected Annabelle with her haughty approach. "If oratorical eloquence is in your desires, then I, Annabelle Victoria Nelson, shall lend you my aid! You will be swooning the most stalwart of disciples in no time under my stewardship!"

"I think nice and simple will do for now," advised Zak. "She's done a pretty good job so far."

"Sometimes, simple works best," Wilheim concurred. "Nobody can ask more than that."

Rebuffed, Annabelle could only yield with a huff. "If you insist. But if there is something that I, Annabelle Victoria Nelson can ask, it would be some standard amenities. I find it bothersome that we have to make do with the reek of oil, inadequate lighting, seats whose cushioning I can hardly even call leather, and most damningly, no air conditioning!"

"Well, that is rather unfortunate," Lipponen cut in. "But you have to understand that back then there was no-"

"Hmm, I reckon we can try hooking up a small fan somewhere," thought Zak. "Still won't be luxury treatment, but it'll be better than nothing."

"Oh, how about a camera?" Rachel suggested with an inspired jump. "I'd kill to actually be able to look left and right. Maybe even have one facing the rear to make backing out a breeze. Think I might have spare touch pad to finagle it…"

The teacher looked startled. "W-well, hold on-"

"Hey, why don't we drape some carpet or blanket around the inside?"
"Maybe a pillow or plushie? It would be adorable~."
"How about air fresheners? Maybe there's a place we can put them…"
"Hand sanitizer sounds nice…"
"Sound system! I want a sound system!"
"Hey, can we decorate our tank? At least let us dress it up!"
"Got a sick banner brought from home. Now what say we really hoist some real colors on our skiff next time?"
"... I want to give ours a cute sticker."
"Blue's nice but what about another color? I think we should pick something that stands out."

The sudden wave of requests, appeals, and suggestions swamped over Amelia and Lipponen. With talks of cosmetics and such personalizations, the club advisor slumped her shoulders. "Oh dear, I was afraid they'd suggest such things. I really hope they don't get too carried away…" she groaned, disturbed by the fearful possibilities that awaited her should the hands of imagination and creativity be left unchecked: gaudy inclusions, needless personal devices, excessive ornaments. Lipponen shivered with fright at such things. Even the most garish paint schemes in the history of tank warfare were at least designed with purpose rather than to sear one's eyes with over-the-top ahistorical additions.

Seeing her teacher look so defeated made Amelia nervous. But in trying to find the positive side, she giggled. "Don't worry Miss Lipponen. I'm sure we can work something out."

"You're correct, Ms. Gunther," the teacher sighed. "They're all new to tankery, so I'll cut them some slack. But we are still involved in a dignified and respected sport that pays homage to history! Casual as we may be, there will be some ground rules. As your club advisor and tankery devotee, I will make sure there'll be standards for us to adhere!"

Amelia smiled. "As club president, I'll allow them so long as they don't get in the way of our fun~. That's what matters, right?"

A sunny visage radiated from the Gunther girl which Lipponen reciprocated. Soon it was like the dread of rampant artistic liberties was forgotten and never happened (yet).

"Hey! Uh, hello?"

The two turned to find themselves in unexpected company of a brown-haired girl and cheeks peppered with freckles against her pale-light complexion. But the traits that caught their attention was the blue uniform of their school which meant whoever she was, she was a fellow student. And the voice recorder and camera in her hands meant that whoever this student was, she was here for a good reason.

"Um, hi."

"How may we help you?"

The freckle-faced girl studied them before peering past them, her head craning to catch the tanks like an eager stork. "So this is the tankery club."

"That's correct!" Lipponen cheerfully confirmed. "I'm Elma Lipponen of homeroom 1-G, faculty advisor for the tankery club. And…"

It took half a second for Amelia to catch onto the cue. "A-and I'm club president of the tankery club, Amelia!"

Instantly the girl's face lit up like a flare. "Duuuude! I found the club and now the peeps I was looking for! Rock on!"

Both Amelia and Lipponen looked confused and startled by the girl's 180 in personality. Seeing this, the girl backed off with friendly chuckle. "Sorry about that, didn't mean to scare ya! I'm Eleanor Netzel of the Newspaper Club and soon-to-be avid reporter for the GBS (just you watch)! I came looking for the school's tankery club for a short 'lil interview! It'll be the hot scoop of the day, I just know it!"

Faces of astonishment were exchanged as the surprise wore off. Now amazed by the opportunity, Lipponen welcomed the student with open arms. "Oh that sounds wonderful, Miss Netzel! Had you arrived sooner, you could've seen today's practice. Now I think that would be a highlight!"

"Heh! A darn shame wasn't it?" Eleanor admitted in good high spirits. "Though I think I actually heard something back at school; helped me find your clubhouse. Heard your club gets pretty loud those days!"

Lipponen nervously laughed as she fidgeted. "Hehe. Yeah, it sure does…"

"Sooo what sort of interview is it?" asked Amelia. "What will it be about? Do we need to go somewhere?"

"Nah dude, right here is fine! Got a great shot of all your goodies and we'll be able to hear!" Making sure she secured her grasp on the voice recorder, Eleanor continued. "After missing out on making the hot press back at the club fair, I'll take what I can, dude! Gonna make it the news of the day this time! So to start things off… what's the story behind the club? How'd it all start?"

Amelia twiddled her fingers, wondering what to say for her words to be recorded for posterity. Hopefully nothing too bad, nothing that she'd regret spilling…

What would the harm be?

She cleared her throat, glancing towards her friends, her teacher, the tanks, anything for last-second inspiration. Facing the informal reporter where the recorder and her eager eyes awaited her, Amelia began.

"So okay, it all began when one day I was running an errand and I happened to come across Miss Lipponen here along the way…"

Towers of ashen steel and brick. Urban sprawl carpeting the earth as a faded maze that stretched across horizons. The old sun on a new day, but the light casted differently here than elsewhere. A field of blue became smothered by endless clouds and plumes of smoke from chimneys and spires.

A gray sky to match the dull industrial city below. Ghosts of flakes drifted and fell like gentle rain. Chill collected on surfaces like icy breaths.

The lingering frost of the previous winter. But even in its final month, such was to be expected for the weather up north.

He could see it all from his seat, the view captured through the spacious window. He would marvel it all were his mind not focused elsewhere, his hands in attendance to essential tasks. Papers, books, a host of implements of ink and graphite that flowed and dashed; thoughts, ideas, answers, questions, and newfound deductions captured as written tongue. The subjects were vast and many, as was to be expected of a scholar of his caliber, commitment, and upbringing.

His work went on in silent diligence until a figure beside him made a hum. The presence next to him did not come as a surprise, but it was what inspired it that caught his intrigue.

The voice scoffed. "Take a look at this."

The young man turned. Sitting next to him in joint conference was another of his kin, robed in a black buttoned blazer devoid of features save for the school's emblem stitched over the left breast and gray cuffs. But where he wore a pair of gray trousers accompanied by black leather belt and gold buckle, the other's uniform was completed by a gray flannel skirt bearing a red stripe. The other student, one of the institution's few but proud, sat reclined in her seat. Her smirk combined amusement with disdain.

His attention gained, she turned her phone's face towards him. His sharp eyes fell upon what the device showed him as it had done for her, what provoked her scorn. An article, a piece of news from around the world, of word gathered from where they could be found. It was all news regarding a common idea that lived with two names, two expressions that both conveyed the same meaning: sensha-dō - tankery.

And here, there was one thing that funneled his attention.

New Seeds of Tankery Planted at Lion Paw National High School!

As he skimmed through the report, presented with proof of amateur penmanship prevalent throughout, his companion continued. "Some small-name national school in Gallia finally got around to forming a tankery team, and for some reason that's treated as newsworthy. No prior history, no experience, just a bunch of nobodies coming together for something they know nothing about."

He said nothing as he kept reading, finding semblance of truth in her words as he dug deeper. A national high school, forming its very first tankery club. A small and inexperienced but enthusiastic band of participants, driven by eagerness and passion by its progenitor. A meager assortment of tanks but through them the so-called seeds of tankery had taken root. To what was to blossom from this humble start, only the most modest and hopeful predictions were shared.

The tale of a new beginning with the typical undertones of optimism. A story as old as any, especially for the martial art of tankery. But as familiar as he was with such tales, they were foreign to him. He stood on the shoulders of titans that dominated the Oriental practice, their own origins beyond his reach. He was not a founder, but a noble inheritor, his place on the throne earned regardless.

But as prosaic as such account was, one thing in particular stood out to the young man. Something that gave him definitive pause to something he would have otherwise paid no heed to.

Among the captured images sprinkled within the informally-written article, pictures of the newly-formed participants brandished the club's leadership, their supervisor and of course their recently-appointed leader - the one to lead them all.

He saw the picture and with it a name: Amelia Gunther.

Amelia Gunther.

Narrowing his eyes, he took a closer gander at this young brown-haired girl, her distinguishing trait the red bandana around her neck in contrast to the Gallian-blue school uniform. He studied the image, taking in her appearance, discerning who she was as a person.

Another scoff. "And can you believe it? Her, commander? After winning only a mere training exercise? Standards must be pitiful if that's how they're appointing leaders."

The boy said nothing, refraining from agreeing. It took a moment before he made his reply, his mind reaching a conclusion.

"Helga?"

The young woman sat up. "Yes, commander?"

Handing back her phone, his orders came with it. "... Reach out to Lion Paw National High School's tankery team. Let them know we look forward to meeting them at the earliest."

The command was received without hesitation. What reluctance or surprise there was for her superior to take the novice team seriously was swiftly usurped by the implications of his words. A most mischievous smirk curled on her lips, unveiling a fanged grin as she relished the thought.

"Right away, Nikolajs."

She made haste to depart, eager to carry out the order. The boy was left behind with his studies, but even as he returned to his original task, his mind now found new occupation. Out of all the subjects he studied, the art of the tank was one he honed in particular. And now, as an artist himself he was to return to the craft that gave his school and himself prestige.

And as his thoughts focused on tankery, he never stopped thinking about that young Gallian girl.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
A short chapter, more brief compared to before but it was originally envisioned to have much more to it. However, I decided to split it into two to keep word count from going too out of control and to prevent bloat. Consider this to be a "part one" of what I had intended for this chapter to cover with "part two" to follow after. Expect more moments of character interactions before we start to get around to something good such as who our new characters are and what they have in store for our protagonists.

Now as you might've guessed, this chapter was based on episode three of GuP where the cast of characters get to learn more about operating their tanks (without live shells being thrown their way). The segment covering aiming was taken almost straight from that episode, though with minor alterations as tank gunsights in Valkyria are totally different from German ones and would thus operate on different rules. I even searched up what they look like when writing just to make sure, though there wasn't much to worry about as the tank sight UI are shared in the games. Even the VC3 OVA had the same gun sight as the ingame one. This little detail may be of little or no consequence in future chapters but I just felt like I had to be certain of my "research".

And just like the early episodes of GuP, I had also thought about a similar scene where each tank gets decorated much to Yukari's chagrin to both further the homage to GuP and to cement Lion Paw's newbie status. But while writing that scene, it just occurred to me that this is also a Valkyria story: tanks with unusual camo/paint schemes is not so out of place. Compared to IRL tanks, the ones in Valkyria get away with painting theirs either blue, red, brown, etc. And that's before we get to other things like flags, trimmings, or even fancy emblems and bling. Having said that though, there would need to be some standards as to what you can put or paint on a tank (so no hot-pink M3 Lee rolling around) as the devs through the official artbooks went to lengths to make them functional within the fictional game world. So don't expect too much in the way of decorations; what there'll be will be more of what you can expect in Valkyria Chronicles.