Sunday, October 13th 2013

Early Morning

Catalina's school ship has left the waters of the Pacific behind them and now sailed the waves of the Atlantic. The vessel was somewhere between the Dominican Republic and Venezuela, firmly planting the vessel along the sea of the Caribbean. In these fair waters, the weather matched. Despite the growing lateness of the year, the temperature was pleasant. On this Sunday morning, most of the ship lay asleep, enjoying one more day of the weekend. However, the whole ship would soon receive their wakeup call.

Over at the garage, the Mojave Rose team was minutes away from starting that day's practice. In the midst of these final preparations, Valarie lay idle, leaning against one of the sides of the T-44. She was in a quiet pondering, though anyone who happened to take a glance at her would think she was staring off into space. Still omnipresent in her mind was the quirk with the team's radio. The issue had bedeviled her in every sense of the word. To the extent that Valarie has begun to believe it is a "her" problem and not something that truly is worth remedying.

"You alright?"

Emma's voice snapped Valarie from her thinking. "Yeah, I am."

"Still on that radio thing?"

Valarie nodded. "It's not the biggest thing in the world, but it's still annoying the hell out of me."

"You'll figure out something for sure. It would be the letdown of the century if this is what defeated you. Just use your head."

"Right, right, use my head," Valarie repeated quietly to herself a few times. All the while, she reflexively drummed her fingers against the top of her helmet. "Using my head..."

When she became aware of her tapping, she stopped and glanced at her CVC helmet. It was the only one like it in the team. After all, it was a gift from the people from the Grafenwoehr Training Area, the NATO base back in Germany to which the team had been invited some time ago. She looked around the garage, looking at the team, her friends. They all wore the older style of U.S. tanker helmet that dated from the Second World War, with some of them actually being that old. They do the job well enough, but Valarie's helmet was objectively superior. Not only was it obviously more modern, but it was also more robust in construction. Anyone wearing such a helmet would feel much more confident in being protected from all manner of harm. There was built-in ear protection that was better than the usual ear plugs used by the majority of the team. Perhaps the best feature of all was the integrated microphone that hung less than a quarter of an inch from Valarie's lips. It made radio and intercom communication easy.

It made it easy.

At that moment, it dawned on her. Without saying a word, she rushed over to the team's supply area. She sought a walkie-talkie, the same kind Gabrielle used while supervising the team during their practices. Once finding one, she attached the headset wire of her helmet to the radio. Rushing back to the T-44 in a great sprint, she managed to sync that radio to the one in the tank after a spat of troubleshooting. Once synced, Valarie could communicate to her crew and the whole team wherever she was, inside or out of her tank. It was a kind of freedom she never knew she wanted before.

But this couldn't only be something only for her to enjoy. No, for this to be fully realized to its potential, every commander on the team needed this setup. So, every commander needed CVC helmets just like her. This, Valarie was dead sure, would resolve the radio quirk that had been the thorn in her side these past few days. Communication uniformity.

Eyeing Gabrielle entering the building, Valarie hastily scribbled down a list of required items and rushed off to the woman.

"Is this in budget?!" she asked, breathlessly.

Gabrielle has long since normalized Valarie's spontaneous explosions of enthusiasm since the team formed. "Helmets and portable radios? Yeah, we got the cash on hand. Gonna guess you want this to be a rush order?"

"The faster, the better."

"Thought so. I'll handle it."

"Thank you, Mrs. Redwood,"

Gabrielle smirked. "I think by now I've earned the right to be on a first-name basis with you."

Blushing, Valarie nodded. "Right, thank you...Gabrielle."

"Always a pleasure, Val."

Inspiration Park

The Mojave Rose team wasted no time getting right down to business. It was scarcely seven-thirty in the morning and already was the area saturated with the thunder of guns. Amidst the woodland, one group of tanks were moving together, in sync, at speed. The Super Pershing, SU-100, and the Type 97 were navigating down a dirt path heavily scarred by the movement of tanks. The focus of today's practice was for the newly-formed squadrons to maintain cohesion while in motion. The tanks drove in a convoy fashion, and the reason for their speed would soon be explained.

"Incoming," announced Valarie over the radio.

Moments after the radio cut off, a portion of the Earth around Rouge Squadron heaved as it was ripped apart by an explosion.

"Artillery fire," Louise, the squadron commander, said. Since the formation of the squadrons, she has adapted quickly to her new role. "Spread out to like, ah, 10 feet? That sounds good."

The affirmatives came quickly, and the order was followed. A little more than a minute later, the ground again was torn asunder behind them. They were getting more accurate. All hatches closed, the commanders discussed between themselves if there was a real possibility of them being hit, if Valarie would genuinely allow that, when their conversation was cut short when a vicious screech roared above them, followed quickly by an explosion.

"WOAH," Aubrey, the Type 97 commander, shouted. "What the hell was that?"

"The only kind of flowers no girl wants," Nora answered as she checked the scopes of her SU-100. She spotted the smoke trails. "Cromwell is to our left. Heading, about One-Five-Seven degrees."

"Are we allowed to shoot back?"

"Wouldn't be wise to stop," Louise said. The others then witnessed as the Super Pershing turned its lofty turret toward where the Cromwell was last reported. The next moment, a flash from its gun sent a round down range, exploding in a vast swath of smoke. "Try and see us now,"

Observing through her binoculars from afar, Valarie looked on with pride. Rouge Squadron had responded well to the fire thrown at them. This was something Valarie saw throughout the whole team, which satisfied her to no end. They were all acclimating excellently to the squad structure. This was made more evident when she shifted her view to Silver Squadron, composed of the team's light tanks.

The Puma, Stuart, and AMR 35 were charged with cross-country maneuvers. It was a time trial to see if they could go from Point A to Point B in the quickest possible time without having to rely upon known roads or paths of any kind. This type of work requires thinking on one's feet. Adjusting her frequency, Valarie listened in on their progress.

"Keep it rolling, guys! Keep it rolling!" Aurora reminded her squad. Silver Squadron got increasingly obscured by the thickening and constricting brush. Valarie had some difficulty maintaining visual contact. "Form up. Stay alert. We can run out of space real fast here."

Listening and watching Silver Squadron cemented Valarie's reasoning as to why Aurora was chosen as squadron commander despite the fact that not too long ago, she and the AMR crew sneaked off to do tankathlon, which infuriated her at the time. Why? Valarie was keenly aware of the controversial nature of the sport, which stemmed mainly from the fact that it was unsanctioned and immensely discouraged outright by nearly every tankery organization worldwide. That, along with the tankery traditionalists, was also very vocal in their opposition, often citing the apparent anarchical nature that at times yielded injury and totaled tanks. It was those same traditionalists who were just as vocal, even more so, in their hardline stance against male participation.

Valarie was no traditionalist. Ray and the other boys being on the team proved otherwise. Her anger came from a sense of protection. She knew that if it became widely known that the American team in the Internationals had also done tankathlon, then it would give their critics some new ammunition to fire right at them. That being said, she was keeping taps on various online tankery forums and news sites. So far, she had found zero mention of Aurora's exploits anywhere. Valarie felt confident that the measures Aurora employed to keep themselves anonymous worked well.

Oh, and the name they gave themselves? The Manhattan Project? It was a good name. A damn good name. She had to give kudos for that.

Altogether, the whole fiasco demonstrated to Valarie that Aurora had a sense of initiative. So, she felt comfortable giving her that squadron commander role. In the environment of leadership, she knew that her initiative would blossom into something beautiful.

It wasn't long before Silver Squadron drove out of view, now well deep into the woods. Thereafter, a quiet fell on the area. For a moment, the chirping of birds was heard. Valarie took these few rare opportunities to soak in the silence and calm. After some meditative breaths, she gave a signal, and the T-44 sprung to life. They were off to continue practice.

Late Morning

Noon was approaching, and the team remained as busy as ever. The nature of practice has shifted to a concentration on shooting. A set of targets were spread out among trees and bushes, purposefully placed to make spotting them difficult. Finding them wasn't the challenge. It was actually hitting them. To shift gears from the regular shooting the team did, Valarie instructed them all to be on the move as they did. In formal parlance, this would be referred to as mobile gunnery maneuvers. Still, people such as the Jumbo crew that was far too wordy for their liking. No, instead, they called what they did in a succinct manner. They did drive-bys.

Shooting on the move was always an awkward thing for any tank to do, with accuracy being an afterthought. The Jumbo, like other Shermans, however, was uniquely suited to the task for its gun, which was equipped with a stabilizer. Provided that Danielle, the driver, doesn't drive too fast, their gunner, Heidi, could aim just as accurately as if the tank was at a complete stop.

"Three hundred yards and closing," Heidi reported, face firmly pressed against the gunner's sight. The Jumbo slowed, which made the stabilizer kick in. Her sight looked as if it was frozen, not moving even a fraction of an inch. "Ready."

"Fire," ordered Haley.

With the simple press of a button, the Jumbo sent a round down range. Less than one second later, their target was reduced to splinters, a successful hit.

"I said it before, and I'll say it again," Heidi began, "This tech makes shooting dead easy."

"To think people figured this out in the 40s," Haley remarked, her head shaking. "Pretty impressive, don't you think?"

Heidi let out a chuckle. "Ha. They can figure out tank gun stabilization, but finding a way to install AC for the crew must be too much for tank designers. Did you know that the main tank used by the Army right now doesn't have an AC system?"

"You for real?"

"I am so for real! What a joke. And they spend most of the time in the desert anyway, so you'd think they'd install some fans. But nah."

Haley sighed. "People are weird."

"You wanna talk weird? How about that girl, Leah? The gunner for the SU-100."

"What about her?"

"Dude, she's out there."

"Like Heather?"

Heidi shook her head. "Heather is on a level I cannot even begin to understand. Now, Leah, well…" she took some moments to think. She's nice. Very nice. But she doesn't talk much. Perpetually looks tired. Always looks like she's thinking about something at all times. All of that compounded by her shooting skills."

"So…her good shooting is what makes her weird?"

"It's how freakishly good she is at it. Remember our match back in New Mexico? The team was on the verge of running out of gas as the last enemy tank sped off into the distance. It was Leah who nailed it. No ranging shots, no nothing. One shot at three kilometers, and she got it.

"I remember," Haley commented. "Everyone was shooting like crazy, but all she needed was one. But does that really make a person weird?"

Heidi went on. "Her accuracy mops the floor with everyone else here, and I like to think this team is overall pretty damn good at shooting! She keeps this up, and she may have a 110% hit ratio."

That got a laugh from Haley. "How the hell can you get 110%? Where does that extra ten percent come from?"

"I dunno, I saw some coach brag about it online. But if anyone on this team could have a stat like that, it would be Leah."

Haley smiled as she rolled her eyes, "If she ever reaches that, then I will finally agree with you that Leah is weird."

From up in front, their driver couldn't help but chime in. "I'd say that anyone who does this sport is a weird person. But the good weird."

"That I can agree on," Haley replied, with Heidi even nodding as well. "Now, can we get back to shooting? Don't want the gun getting cold."

"Right,"

Another shell was loaded, and the gun readied. Heidi, face again pressed against her sight, began to work out the range. During her calculations, however, she saw something she had never before witnessed, causing her to do a double-take. Her sight wobbled. It was the most minor movement any object could ever make, but it was still noticeable. "Geez, talk about a jinx. We talked about the stabilizer no more than ten seconds ago, and now it's starting to act up."

Haley's face immediately went sour, "Oh, come on..."

In the next moment, there was another wobble. This time, the whole machine shook, which coincided with the sound of metal under strain. The whole Jumbo crew looked around their area with confusion, having no clue as to what was happening.

"Hey...hey!" Danielle shouted. "One of the steering sticks is vibrating!"

Before Haley or anyone else could even utter a word, the answer revealed itself most dramatically. The metal straining they heard groaned and creaked louder and louder up until a vicious snap echoed through the area. In less than a fraction of a second, the Jumbo went from driving steady to swerving wildly to the right, shuddering to a halt, with the tank now pointing in the opposite direction from where it once was.

Practice came to a stop once the news spread. The Jumbo crew, after collecting themselves from being jostled around, got out of their tank to investigate what just happened. The cause was found immediately. Looking at the rear section of their right-side tracks, they snapped in an awful way. The area looked obliterated as if it got slammed by a round. Examining her immediate area, Haley saw pieces of track embedded in the ground many feet away. The snap flung shrapnel all over the place.

The tank closest to them, the Panther II, was also at a stop. Paige clambered out of her machine and joined with the Jumbo crew, inspecting the damage.

"I know your problem," she told them.

"What's that?" Haley asked.

"Track snapped."

Haley sighed. "Yeah, thanks for that."

Soon, more of the team began to congregate. Chief among them was Valarie, who made a beeline toward the stricken Sherman. Once she had made sure that no one was hurt by the track shrapnel, she began to examine the damaged track section. Kneeling down to get a closer look, she spotted the track links at the point of separation. They were warped and uncomfortably stretched. In her mind, Valarie could only imagine one plausible explanation for these tracks to snap so abruptly. Someone overtightened them. Haley, who was next to Valarie and also pondering the situation, came to the same conclusion.

It was the equal responsibility of the Jumbo crew to care for their tank. That was the theory. In practice, some were more responsible than others. Heidi, since day one, had installed herself as the chief member responsible for the hygiene of the tank. Being so religiously devoted to keeping things clean, inside and out, she was ruled out immediately from being the culprit.

Danielle and Haley took charge of the welfare of the engine. Heather had tutored the two girls extensively back when they were new to the team, and they have become respectable mechanics. While Heidi was concerned about keeping things like the engine and tracks clean, Haley and Danielle focused on making it all work. No way they overtightened the tracks.

That left Harper. She was in a unique position as the only disabled member of the team. Though Harper was ripping at the seams with enthusiasm for participation in the sport, her lack of hearing invariably restricted her. Being a loader was realistically the only thing a person like her could do. Her maintenance responsibilities were likewise limited. Regardless of whatever reality imposed, the determination within pushed her to defy the conventional.

Not always with success, however. But one did have to give the girl props.

With her list of suspects sufficiently narrowed, Haley began to question Harper, who, for the whole time they were outside, was off looking into the trees. "Did you do anything with the tracks recently?"

Harper nodded. "Yesterday, when everyone was just about to leave, I took a moment to tighten our tank's tracks. It was a while since we last did it, so I thought I'd chip in. I never done it before, and it was pretty fun."

"Was it tough?"

"Yeah! Super tough! I had to work the tool really hard just to move an inch. I dunno how Danielle does it."

Haley motioned to the wrecked section of the Sherman. Harper looked curiously at the damage for a moment before it finally dawned on her. She gave Haley an extremely embarrassed look, her face the deepest shade of red.

"Don't worry yourself," Haley told her with a comforting smile. "You couldn't have known. You also wouldn't have known about the noise that sounds when you tighten a track too far."

Harper, shocked, looked right at her friend. "It makes a noise?!"

Calming her down once more, Haley turned to Valarie. "Go easy on her. She only learned the sun didn't make any noise 'till last week."

"I'm just glad that no one was hurt in all this," Valarie said. She spent another moment studying the damage. Then, a shrug. "Good time as any for an extended lunch. More than enough time for you guys to get to work on repairs."

"This won't take too long. I hope."

"That kinda sucks for you, doing work on break," Paige added. She was shadowing the conversation the whole time.

Haley, spotting something behind Paige, sported an innocent smile. "Well, you know what they say. Misery loves company."

"...Huh?"

Motioning toward her Panther II, Paige's face went from confusion to one of dread. Turning right around, her worst fears were realized. Though none of the track shrapnel injured anyone on the team, it did claim one victim. For one piece, flying like a bullet, with the same lethality, struck one of the Panther II's night vision devices affixed to the driver's viewport. The glass of the spotlight was shattered utterly.

Paige could muster no swears or even any words. Just sighs and a whole lot of sulking.

She could use some lunch right about now.

When break got underway, Valarie and her crew set themselves underneath a large oak tree. As they broke out their lunches, a soothing gust blew through, making the leaves above them break into dance. Eating her sandwich, Valarie watched out to the field where the team lay. Listening to the numerous conversations that mingled with the sound of hammers as the Jumbo crew labored to repair their machine.

Her attention then wandered as the rustling leaves soothed her mind. In moments like these, Valarie allowed her mind to go blank. Her life was already busy enough, and that wasn't even accounting for the regular responsibilities of being a student. This was all manageable, if only by a few threads. Valarie's moment of serenity wouldn't last, however. Sooner or later, there was always someone wanting to get her attention, and today was no different. Emerging from the trees and knocking on the T-44's hull was Alice. A curious sight as Valarie couldn't recall a time the girl ever visited the team during their practice.

"Keeping busy, I see," Alice greeted. "Didn't know tankery had this much lying around. This is more my speed."

Valarie grinned. "Believe me, this part of tankery is just as important as the driving and the shooting."

Turning her gaze to the lounging team for a moment, Alice returned a nod. "From what I'm seeing, I'd say it's even more so."

At that, Valarie simply replied with a shrug. "So, what brings you here? You want to join up or something?"

"No, no," Alice laughed. "I'm here for something else. Have you been told of Andromeda and her special friend coming by to visit you guys?"

"Oh yeah, I know about that. Sounds pretty cool."

"More than you know," Alice spoke with an excited grin. "You see, I've just joined the school's newspaper and already am I sicced with a deadline. I need an article by Monday, and this visit by Andromeda and her friend is my chance."

Valarie nodded along during the conversation. "Gotcha. I'm guessing now you want to ask questions about me or the team to gain some background knowledge.

At that, Alice looked delighted with herself. "I already got what I needed in spades. There are loads of articles about you guys all over the internet."

"Uh huh…" Valarie didn't exactly look thrilled.

"Oh, didn't you know?"

"No, I knew there were articles," her hands fidgeted around. "But not so many. How…are they? Like, generally?"

Alice took a moment to think, exhaling sharply. "Overall? Not as bad as you think. It's the…," there was a long moment of hesitation. She stammered a bit. "Well, if you ever read the articles, just avoid the comments."

"Right," Valarie sighed. "I don't read them anyway. Not only because of…that but also because I just find it really weird to read about myself. It's surreal."

"Yeah, I feel you," Alice said before falling into a snicker. "Madison definitely does. She thinks I don't know, but I definitely caught her looking herself up online more than once."

Valarie's face lit up with laughter. "I totally believe it!"

Their conversation was cut short when Marielle appeared out of nowhere. She looked out of breath, her uniform a bit disheveled, and a look on her face that radiated anxiety. Marielle withdrew her phone and handed it right to Valarie. "You need to hear this."

While Valarie has avoided reading what others said about her and the team, there was nothing she could do about having to listen to it. Marielle's phone was in hand, and she saw on the screen an audio recording from a news broadcast by the familiar Miss Vickers, the popular tankery reporter. Her crew, plus Marielle and Alice, were all crowded around to hear.

"Yes, my dear listeners, this rapidly approaching match between Mojave Rose of the United States of America and Ajaccio Seaside Academy of France is, what many people are saying, a bellwether match. What does that mean exactly? Well, two things. One, as I already mentioned—did you already forget?—is the rich history the French team has. It is as close to the epicenter of tankery's creation as any school could get without being right at ground zero. Now compare that to this Mojave Rose. I've done some digging, and listeners, the gulf between them could not be any more vast. Mojave Rose doesn't have any grand and extensive history of tankery. In fact, if I am understanding this California news report correctly, that team isn't even a full-year-old."

Valarie already had some inkling over the nature of their opponent. Ajaccio's renown as a tankery team was world-class. A veritable juggernaut steeped to their soul in tankery tradition. Hearing Mojave Rose compared to them was jarring and uncomfortable for her. Miss Vickers went on.

"The other thing to consider is that when this match happens, it'll represent the halfway point of the world tournament. Can you believe that? Halfway already? Now, I know a lot of people who didn't believe Mojave Rose would make it this far. Even I had my own personal doubts about them. But repeatedly, they have shattered my expectations. Nonetheless, they still have their doubters. People are saying that Mojave Rose will meet their match with Ajaccio, such as Evette Traver, captain of their tankery team. We have a clip of her speaking about the Americans. I must preface that her views are not shared by the staff or me at this station. We're just the messengers."

There, waiting for the next segment to start, Valarie and everyone else present stood still with breathless anticipation. After what felt like an eternity, the voice of Evette Traver rang through, speaking in clear English.

"The Americans have only progressed this far because of sheer dumb luck. Their performance—if you can call it that—is an abnormality. Do you want to know what you call something that sprouts up by chance and is abnormal? You call that thing a cancer. The American team is a cancer to this sport. My team and I will be the chemotherapy that will obliterate them. Should the American captain hear this, I want them to understand this; Valarie. If you truly love and respect this sport and all that it stands for, what it represents to millions of women around the world, then your team will withdraw from the tournament. Keep this strange coed experiment restricted to your country so that the tradition and integrity of tankery can be upheld on the world's stage. Refuse? I will show you how close to war tankery can be."

The mention of her name made everyone snap their eyes at Valarie. If she wasn't uncomfortable before, she definitely was now. However, the fact that her name was said wasn't that shocking. As Alice said, with all those news articles about Mojave Rose, finding Valarie's name was a trivial affair.

"That statement…like, wow. You don't hear that every day from an athlete of any sport. This is precisely what I mean when I call this imminent match a bellwether. I firmly believe that should Mojave Rose win, the ramifications for the sport at large will be immense. I certainly hope that they don't withdraw from the tournament. For I just know such a match will be one for the books."

When the recording stopped, there was a gaunt quiet. No one said a word, not that they could manage any. The air around them felt suddenly very thick with discomfort. While people tried their damnedest not to, some could not help but glance at Valarie to gauge her feelings. In the next moment, she took off her moment, gently shook her head to loosen her hair, and gave out a tired sigh.

"Well…" Valarie forced a chuckle. "That's some speech."

"Now, this gives me a lot to write about," Alice mused, scribbling down some notes. "I would have never anticipated the French flat out state they hate you."

"Hate's a strong word," Ashley added before then forcing a chuckle of her own. "Which is why I think it fits well."

"The girl sounds like she has something shoved up her ass," Heather remarked. "Probably from all the ivory from the tower she's sitting on."

Emma hummed in agreement. "I betcha all that pride will get to their heads when we face them."

"It won't," Valarie said bluntly. "I heard of this Evette Traver before. She won't allow it."

"How are you so sure?"

"Before the internationals, the biggest news in the tankery scene was that Traver was in the final round of athletes candidates to join Bataillon Jeanne d'Arc."

"I'm sorry, but" Alice questioned. "What is that?"

"In France, they call their professional tankery teams Bataillons, and Bataillon Jeanne d'Arc is their premier one. Consistently ranks among the top three pro teams worldwide."

"Oh…"

"Without a doubt, Traver's performance in the internationals will influence the decision whether or not she gets picked. We cannot underestimate her at all. Her future is on the line.

"Yeah, well, still gives her no reason to act like a bitch," Ashley said.

Valarie shrugged at that. "Well, anyway. I'll think about this later. Right now, I just want some lunch."

Alice, spotting a pair of new arrivals emerging from the trees, smiled a bit. "Hold off on lunch for just a moment."

"We're here."

"I know. I can smell the gunpowder in the air."

Arriving during the team's break was an unusual pair with arms interlocked. One was Andromeda, a young woman that the team is beginning to get used to with all of their eccentricities. Her forest green cloak, resembling a particular Ranger from Middle Earth, drew many eyes. What drew just as much attention was her companion, a young man sporting a sleek navy blue jacket. And what's more, people noticed the dark-as-pitch glasses he wore along with him carrying a red-and-white cane that was all folded up and tucked neatly underneath one of his arms.

Leading her companion, Andromeda took him to where the T-44 was parked. Valarie and her friends approached the pair to greet them.

"Hey guys," Valarie welcomed.

"Good afternoon. Our paths cross once again," Andromeda said. The slightest, faintest blush broke out on her face. "I bring a…special friend here today."

Andromeda's special friend likewise blushed and smiled. "Ben," he introduced himself. "I've heard a lot about you guys."

"Kinda hard not to with all the guns," Valarie said in jest.

"Very," he said. "And I have been hearing them now more than ever. Why so busy, guys?"

"Squeezing in extra practice before our match against the French team that's coming up soon," answered Ashley. "They're a pretty big deal."

"Ajaccio Seaside Academy are world-class in their league in every sense of the word," Ben said. "They are one of the few teams that fight like an army. Very impressive for girls still in high school."

"Wow….," Valarie looked at him with wide-eyed amazement. "You know your stuff, huh?"

"I'm more than your typical fan of tankery," Ben said. Then, a sly smile appeared on his lips. "In fact, how about we have ourselves a little wager?"

Valarie looked at Ben curiously. "What kind of wager?"

"I bet you that despite my…condition…I can confidently identify one of your tanks," he withdrew his cane and extended it. "Through touch alone."

"You do that, and I'll give you a big ass bag of Jolly Ranchers," Ashley said.

"You're on."

Ben began by walking around the forest clearing, cane out in front as he sought after a suitable tank to work on. One person after another on the team soon caught wind of what was happening and stopped whatever they were doing to watch in amused bewilderment. His cane, moving from side to side, almost hit one of the parked tanks at times, but he walked by them as if they didn't exist. Now, if he genuinely did not perceive them or just ignored them, no one could honestly say but him.

A few short minutes went by before a clang was heard. His cane came into contact with a tank. "Ah, there we go. I chose this one."

Valarie, who was quietly following close behind, had to force herself not to gasp. Out of all the tanks on the team, Ben had chosen to examine the VK. "You had to pick that one, geez," she said in a whisper.

"What makes you say that?" Andromeda asked, also whispering. She spooked Valarie with her words, as the girl had no idea she was being followed as well.

"The VK is the kind of tank that people get confused about, even when they are able to see it. You really need to know your stuff to know what makes a VK a VK."

A flash of trepidation appeared on Andromeda before it vanished as quickly as it came, "I have faith in him, "she said. "He comes from good stock."

Together, they watched as Ben started his examination of the VK. Using only his cane, he tapped it against parts of the machine, seemingly at random. A few taps on the roadwheels, a couple at the rear of the engine, and a handful at the front hull. Then, he began to work on the cannon barrel, his cane scraping against it up and down. Ben moved his cane forward as he continued to study the gun when he reached the muzzle break. He studied this most of all, walking around to get all the angles. He let out a pleased hum, collapsed his cane, and turned right around.

"VK 30.02M."

Silence. The team was left awestruck by his correct identification. Not least of all was Valarie, whose jaw might as well be on the ground. A shoulder nudge from Andromeda brought her out of it. "Good. Stock," she said, grinning with arms crossed.

Valarie glanced at her in shock before walking right up to Ben. The boy looked very pleased with himself. "You…how the hell did you figure that one out?"

He shrugged. "I told you. I know my stuff."

"People commonly mistake the VK as a regular Panther damn near all the time. Hell, I even heard some tankery announcers call it a Panther!"

"It's not that surprising," Ben remarked. "Appearance-wise, the VK is 99% identical to the mainline production Panthers that came after it. Of course, there are also armor thickness differences, but that's neither here nor there," he took a moment to extend his cane and walked to the front of the VK. "I had an inkling of what this tank was when I first noticed the lack of side skirts, though you could have easily removed them, so it doesn't mean much. When I got to the front, that's when I got two more clues. First, on the hull, there was a lack of a mounted machine gun. Instead, in its place, was a cover. I initially believed this to indicate that the tank was an early version of the Panther A model, but it's not."

"And how are you so sure it isn't the A model?" Ashley asked. "You coulda made a mistake."

Ben's grin couldn't get any bigger. He could feel people on the team lay their awestruck eyes on him. He waited all his life for a moment like this. "The dead giveaway was the muzzle break. Only the VK 30.02M has this spherical-like muzzle break at the tip of its cannon. Production Panthers had a different shape.

Emma, standing next to Valarie, tapped her side. "If Madison is your sister, then this guy is your brother."

Blushing, Valarie replied, "Oh, stop it."

"If things played out differently, Valarie would be staring at her future husband," Heather joked.

Valarie, red, mouthed a quick and harsh shut up at an amused Heather before addressing Ben. "You are very impressive with your knowledge. Tell me, where did you learn all this stuff?"

"All from my mom," he said with sincere pride. "Before I was born, she was a tankery athlete at the professional level, back when that used to be a thing in America. She was a part of a pro team known as the Inland Empresses."

Upon hearing that, Valarie quite literally jumped with joy. She had learned through Madison that a couple of students at Catalina had parents with a tankery background. However, she would never have imagined that she'd meet the child of a former pro. If the day wasn't interesting before, it certainly was now.

"I heard of them!" Valarie gasped. "They were based out of Anaheim. I have for sure seen clips of them during their matches. Man," she paused to gaze out to nothing in particular, lost in her own mind. "To see pro tankery athletes at work is like watching an artist paint their masterpiece, each cannon shot like a brush stroke."

"That's exactly how I feel!" Ben said, his excitement palpable. "If you've seen clips of the Empresses, then you've probably seen my mom. Her tank, as you can tell, was a Panther Model F. She has been in Panthers since middle school. All the years in those tanks made her an exemplary Panther commander, holding total mastery over the machine."

"That's so freaking cool, man," Valarie remarked. "How long was your mom in the pros?"

"Six years, up until the professional league went defunct in 1992. When that happened, it crushed her. Luckily for her, she managed to find something to do that's almost as good as being in the pros."

Ben made a gesture toward Andromeda, who withdrew her phone from a pocket. A few finger swipes later, she showed Valarie and the others a photo. It showed a group of young women in their early twenties, all dressed sharply in clean uniforms. Behind them, sat upon a Pershing, was an older woman who looked to be in their mid-thirties and looked proud. At the top of the photo was a banner that read, University of California, Berkeley.

Ashley whistled in awe. "I'll be damned, coaching for Berkeley. Surely one of the Top Ten schools I'd never get into."

"I'd settle for a community college. Any of them," Valarie said, half-jokingly.

"I think you guys are vastly underestimating yourselves," Ben said.

"I think we're being realistic," Emma told him. "Schools like that are the opposite of affordable.

"Ah. I see. Well, in any case," Ben outstretched his hand and sported a grin. "My candy, please."

The well-earned bag of sweets was given to him and tucked away safely in his jacket pocket. For the remainder of the team's break, the group chatted amongst themselves. Ben was the most talkative, sharing story after story about his mother's career, with Valarie hanging on to every word. At some point, he was invited to enter the T-44 itself and explore the crew compartment.

During their conversations, the Jumbo crew, who were busy for the whole duration of the break repairing their tracks, had at last finished. Their completion was taken as a sign by everyone else to remount their vehicles and resume practice. As people moved around, however, Valarie was the only one who remained motionless.

Ray, spotting this, walked on over. "What's up? Something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," she said with a thoughtful face. "Just that, with the Jumbo's tracks snapping, I'm thinking of having everyone check their tracks, sprockets, road wheels, and running wheels to make they are in perfect condition."

"The tools we store on our tanks can't do all that," Ray brought up.

"Right, so here's what I'm proposing," Valarie said. "The team goes back to the garage to perform the inspection and needed maintenance," she paused a moment as a thought came to her. "Hmm, though, people probably won't be that excited to resume practice after garage work. What do you think?"

Ray did not immediately respond as he pondered. It was close to 1 PM, and knowing how adept the team was at mechanics, guessed that people would finish their inspections around 2 PM or 2:30 if issues came up. The fishing thing he and Natalie wanted to go to had a start time of 3 PM. From the corner of his eye, he saw Natalie looking right at him with pleading eyes. She had overheard what Valarie had said and knew that this was their best chance.

"Yes!" he said, his enthusiasm catching Valarie off-guard. "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure," he clapped and shouted, getting people's attention. "Let's get a move on! Back to the garage!"

Later

On a lazy Sunday afternoon, two teens were sprinting.

Once all the inspections and repairs were done, Ray and Natalie immediately left the garage. They rushed back to their apartments to change. The pair both met up outside and, not even wasting time for words, made a mad dash to the nearest bus stop. Though only around one hundred feet away, if they missed the bus, then they'd have no chance of making it to the fishing trip on time.

Tankery athletes are not natural sprinters. So, by the time the pair made it to the stop and as the bus rolled in, they were breathing as if the Earth was about to run out of air. Taking a seat on board, they took a few moments to calm themselves.

"Cutting it…close," Ray said, though barely.

"The last time I ran that hard…was back in middle school to do the mile," Natalie said with a tinge of disgust.

Ray shook his head. "Nobody likes doing the mile."

"Nobody, but I remember doing it in five minutes and forty-five seconds. Fastest in the class."

He turned to look at her with curious eyes. "What made you run so fast?"

Natalie giggled to herself when she was asked that. A rush of red spread throughout her cheeks. "I wanted to impress a guy I liked."

"Was he?"

"No,"

Natalie said it so bluntly that it caused Ray to throw himself back into his seat with laughter. "Well," he said after a moment. "At least you ran good."

As the pair recovered from their spontaneous cardio session, the bus made its rounds through Little Long Beach. Though Natalie and Ray had to rush to get changed once getting back from practice to make the bus, they made sure to take a quick shower. Their time in tankery has reinforced the point that showers are an absolute necessity. In all their haste, their hair was still damp and not fully groomed.

"Hey, I don't see you much with your hair let down," Ray remarked. "They have little curls at the ends. It's cute."

She blushed as she tended to her hair. "Thanks. I was gonna put them in a bun before heading out, but checking the time, I just had to leave it."

"Turn your head that way and lemme do something," Ray then asked.

Intrigued, Natalie did so. In the next moment, she felt his hands work tenderly on her hair. The feeling was therapeutic in some way, as Natalie felt calm and secure. She was mildly disappointed, then, when Ray finished what he was doing only after a few short minutes. He then took a picture of his work and showed it to her.

"Woah, you made the perfect bun!" she was pretty surprised, and any disappointment within her vanished as quickly as it came. "Where did you learn to do this?"

"Watching a whole bunch of video tutorials online," he said with a grin. "Is it really perfect?"

"It is! You did amazing!"

Now Ray was blushing and blushing hard. "Man, we haven't even done the fishing yet, and already the day is going great."

"Oh, I can't wait for that."

The bus made another stop, emptying more people than it let on. This trend continued for the next several steps until it was only them on board. They have now left behind the residential areas of the schoolship and entered an unquestionably industrial area. They were warehouse after warehouse with fuel depots mixed among them. Industrial areas such as these were the lifeline that kept American schoolships operational as they weren't resupplied at sea like some other ships. Instead, they opt to store many supplies and other needed materials on hand to keep a ship's population satisfied for a minimum of six months.

When the bus finally made their stop, the pair disembarked and found themselves alone. Following directions on her phone, Natalie led them to where they needed to go. They arrived at a building that housed elevators and got in one. Such buildings could be found all over the ship to provide vertical transport to the many sublevels of the vessel. It was this specific building that got them where they wanted to go.

The elevator took them to the very bottom of the Rembrandt. Taking a turn and going down a hallway, they began to notice a salty aroma in the air that grew stronger as they walked. Soon, this scent was joined by the sound of clapping waves.

Natalie's eagerness reached new heights. "We've made it! Just in time!"

What they arrived at was the well deck for the Rembrandt. It was a massive open space that could house a naval destroyer comfortably with room to spare. Though, they won't be sailing on a destroyer today. Instead, what they were going to board was a two-story fishing boat. It looked clean and modern, as was much of everything on and within the ship.

After checking in and boarding the boat, all the people who came for the trip were given a quick lecture on the do's-and-don'ts. Once that was done, they were off. The boat sailed quickly away from the Rembrandt, which soon became slinked underneath the horizon. Now, it was just them in the open water of the Atlantic Ocean. Natalie soaked in the grand sight. Though she had been living on a school ship for a good few months now, only now was she able to appreciate the grandiosity of the ocean. It was beautiful beyond words.

"Oh, I'm at peace," she said quietly to herself. "Absolute Zen."

The name of the game was simple. People were allowed to keep whatever they managed to catch. Each person was provided with bait, a net, and a hook. Mounted on the railings were professional-grade fishing rods made of steel.

"Damn, they aren't kidding around here," Ray said as he took a good look at their gear. "Stuff like this will easily catch some salmon."

"If only," replied Natalie. "They won't be found this far south in the Atlantic. Instead, we'll find fish like tuna, snapper, and mahi-mahi."

Ray was already brainstorming all kinds of recipes, which made him hum with eagerness. "Oh, I hope we catch something good!"

They prepared the rod with some bait, and Natalie cast it out into the water. With that, all there was to do now was wait. Fishing, after all, is really a sport of patience. To pass the time, they chatted amongst themselves as they gazed out to the rolling waves of the Atlantic. Their topics of conversation were random, though it soon turned to what they wanted their futures to be. Unlike Valarie, tankery was not their ultimate goal. Instead, they see the sport as a chapter in the story of them. A chapter that will undoubtedly leave its impression.

Ray spoke again of his passion for pursuing archaeology. He eagerly shared what he had learned recently, such as a recent find of a site in Italy that uncovered a trove of Roman-era swords. The pictures from the discovery filled him with glee when he first found it, and he so badly wished he could have one for himself.

"I think it's illegal to keep archeological artifacts," Natalie said to him.

He playfully scoffed at her. "Buzzkill."

Now, Natalie shared what she wanted to do with her life. Ray already knew that she wished to become a marine biologist. However, this time, he now understood precisely what kind of biologist she yearned to be. Natalie was enchanted by the deep. Smitten by it. In all the places where life dwelled on Earth, none were more unique and more alien-like than those that live deep in the water, where sunlight is a foreign concept.

There's a lot of freaky stuff down there," she said. "Ever seen photos of an anglerfish? They're just mouths that swim. So weird looking but…so cool."

"Anglerfish?" Ray responded, thinking. "Why is that familiar to me?"

"Knowing you, it was probably the best way to cook them."

"Do people really eat them?"

"They sure do."

"Oh," he shrugged. "Well, I'll try anything once."

Before Natalie could dump any more info about deep sea life on Ray, she felt a strong tug on her rod, which spooked the pair. The bobber that was out in the water, which was just there not even a second ago, had vanished. Another tug, this one stronger, had Natalie grip the rod with all her strength.

"This is…," she said, her voice under strain from having to keep the rod from slipping out of her hands. "This is something…tough."

"Can you tell what it is?"

"No…the water is too choppy to make out the species."

The fishing line darted back and forth and side to side, with each movement becoming more violent. Whatever was caught was panicking and was doing whatever it could to break free. In this growing desperate struggle for survival, it dove deep into the water before rapidly swimming upward. Like a missile, it erupted from the ocean surface into the air, flexing its body in an attempt to break free. Ray and Natalie, now seeing what they were facing, were amazed and a little scared. This was no regular fish.

"Ho-oh, shit!" Natalie shouted, her voice quaking. "It's a marlin!"

That got the attention of nearby people, who stopped their own fishing and focused their eyes on Natalie and Ray. For the next twenty minutes, Natalie was locked in battle with the marlin. The animal wrestled, it struggled, it fought. She could feel from how it was tugging on the line that it was growing exhausted. A good thing as so was she.

"This thing's kicking my ass!" Natalie told Ray. He could see her arms start to wobble from all the exertion, her hands a pale white from the death grip she had on the rod. "It does not want to lose."

"God, that thing's gotta be strong. How much do you think it weighs?"

"That thing? I'd say two hundred pounds or so. Some of them can reach weights over one thousand."

He was aghast. "You're definitely not fishing for salmon anymore. Let me help you."

Natalie quickly shook her head. She was filled to the brim with an ironclad determination. "No, this one's mine."

"Damn…" Ray sputtered. He leaned in close for a whisper. "You've never been more attractive."

Giving him a quick smile, she resumed her focus on the task at hand. "Get that hook ready, I can feel the thing getting tired."

Doing what he was told, Ray stood at the ready as Natalie began the careful process of reeling in her catch. The marlin had exhausted itself from the struggle and only had enough strength to flop helplessly on the ocean surface. A member of the boat's crew came by and gave them some encouragement and, better yet, an offer.

"One thousand dollars cash if you sell the thing to us," he said.

"Deal," Natalie answered.

"Hey, alright!" Ray cheered. Then, his mood suddenly changed. "Hey, what's that?"

"Huh? What's what?"

"That!" he yelled, pointing to the far right of the exhausted marlin. All that could be seen was a fin sticking out of the water, moving at speed toward their catch.

"It's a damn shark!" Natalie cried out.

She reeled faster, but it wasn't enough. The shark broke the water's surface and, with its jaw open wide, clamped down on the marlin, and both animals sank beneath the waves. The fishing reel spun wildly to the extent that Natalie had to let go. But she still gripped the rod itself and braced herself. Soon, the line was fully extended, and Natalie had to contend with the full strength of a Great White shark.

This, she tried, but it wasn't even a fair fight. As the shark dove deeper, it overwhelmed the fishing line and snapped it. The rod, being put under such tension, vibrated when the line gave way. Then, silence save for the waves.

"Damn," the crew member said. "That marlin would've been great."

"There goes that thousand bucks…," Ray complained. He turned to see how Natalie was fairing and was surprised to see an amused face. "You okay?"

Natalie answered with a pleased sigh. "Ray…this is an experience I will never forget. I'm glad you were here to share it with me."

Reaching out to hold her bruised hand, he said, "Here's to many more."

The young couple, fingers interlocked, stepped away from the railing and took a seat on a nearby bench. As the fishing trip neared its end and the boat began the return journey, they enjoyed the sight of the ocean together in blissful silence.