Ayers Kaserne, Butzbach, Federal Republic of Germany

1300 hours, 1st November, 1983

The autumn breeze was brisk, kicking up the dry leaves that gathered along the tank rows. Kay made her way over to Bravo 1-1, their M1 Abrams, arms stacked with maps and loose papers. She caught sight of Alisa, half-buried in radio equipment, muttering something under her breath.

"Hey, give me a hand here," Kay called, knocking her boot against the hull to catch Alisa's attention. Alisa's head snapped up, her annoyed scowl shifting as she grabbed the stack of maps from Kay's hands.

"Kay, these damn codes they handed us are a mess," Alisa said, her Philly accent thick with irritation. "None of them are even workin' right. Might as well be speakin' Martian on these radios."

Kay grinned, unfazed. "Martian, huh? Sounds like a skill to add to your resume." She leaned into the open hatch, upside down, reaching for the pile of encrypted codebooks in Alisa's lap.

"Lemme take a look," she said, tuning the radios until they finally crackled to life. Alisa snatched the mic, a relieved grin crossing her face.

"Bravo Actual, this is Bravo 1-1, radio check. Over," Alisa said, only to get static. With a low growl, she glanced at Kay, who was barely hiding a smirk.

"Try it again," Kay said, sliding back up to her commander's seat.

"Bravo 1-1, Bravo 1-2. Loud and clear. Over." Alisa's shoulders dropped, exhaling in relief as the response came in, and she gave Kay a triumphant nod.

"Copy, Bravo 1-2," Alisa replied smoothly, logging the successful check before setting the mic down and letting out a low mutter. "Only took twenty minutes."

As she settled into her seat, Kay began unfolding one of the larger maps over the turret, sketching quick marks with her red marker. The topographic details of Frankfurt lay spread before her, arrows drawn from different checkpoints down the highway toward Fulda. She circled Fulda and added, '11TH ARM. CAV. MEET.'

Kay's focus broke when she heard shuffling on the side of the tank. She looked up to see Naomi, their gunner, setting a row of 105mm shells on the ground with practiced ease.

"Yo, boss, which ones you want loaded?" Naomi asked, her Texan drawl slow and easy.

"Keep HEAT and AP up here, store the HEP rounds down below," Kay replied, watching Naomi as she nodded and began organizing the rounds with deliberate care. Meanwhile, Alisa resumed fiddling with the radios, muttering a string of curses when one of the connections faltered again.

Just as Alisa got fed up and climbed out of the turret, she noticed a pair of legs sticking out from under the Abrams' engine block. She walked over and crouched, tapping on the nearby metal with her knuckles.

"Hemmie, you alive down there?"

A loud thunk sounded as Hemmie, their driver, hit her head on the underside of the tank. She slid out, rubbing her forehead and blinking up at Alisa with a slight frown.

"Yeah, still alive, Alice," she replied, taking a swig from the water bottle Alisa handed her. She wiped her mouth and tossed the bottle back onto the tank. "Just making sure everything's set, in case, y'know, they actually expect us to go somewhere."

Alisa chuckled, leaning against the tank. "Hope not too far, kid, or you'll have us spinning circles."

They were interrupted by Kay popping her head out of the hatch, grinning at the sight of her crew. "If we're lost, we'll just blame it on these radios, right, Alisa?"

"Damn straight," Alisa shot back. "Might as well be tin cans and string."

Meanwhile, across the grounds, Megumi stood watching from the window of the staging building, her eyes on the line of tanks and scattered crew. She glanced at her watch: 1300. Tomorrow, the Able Archer exercise would kick off, and she had the unenviable task of prepping 3rd Armored, 1st Brigade, 32nd Armor, 2nd Battalion, Bravo Company for whatever NATO had planned.

Her fingers tapped on the windowsill, memories tugging her thoughts back two decades to Checkpoint Charlie in '61. Those days felt almost dreamlike—back when the weight of the world didn't press as heavily on her shoulders. Back then, she'd been in the field, like Kay and her crew, instead of dealing with endless briefings and recycled strategies.

She cast another glance at her watch. Another meeting was due soon, more talk about theoretical maneuvers that never deviated from the original plans. She took a breath, steeling herself for what was sure to be a long day, her gaze drifting back to Kay, Alisa, Naomi, and Hemmie. For all the bureaucracy she endured, her main concern was ensuring these soldiers were ready—whatever Able Archer might throw their way.