Grumbling to yourself, you headed back to the girls' dorm popping open your waistcoat along the way. The fall heat was real, and trudging in you drew nothing but stares. Probably because you were sweating like a pig, since your plan for today had been to just wear a soft t-shirt under your uniform instead of a bra because you weren't that far unpacked yet. Getting back to your room and stripping down in front of the air conditioner and box fan at full blast felt absolutely heavenly.
Homework though? Homework was terrible. You didn't get sent here because school was easy, you got sent here because you were honestly a bit of a fuckup. Math homework was hell, literature- on a typewriter no less since neither you nor Leki, your roommate, had a computer- was best described as torment, and the sweet solace of history only slowed things down for a few minutes until science was clobbering you over the head.
Looking at your near-mute roommate, you shared a nod. The only thing to cure this solace was muffins. Changing out of the slacks and special stuff, you decided that it would be absolutely fine to head down to the bakery in a sports bra, hoody, and sweats. Fuck it, and especially math homework. Once you were there, a blueberry muffin and a cup of tea were waiting, along with a nice couch and a blanket. You weren't kidding when you said the female dorms were amazingly comfortable to live in! Still, as you curled around your drink, and Leki curled around you, you smiled.
"You know we're gonna have to start wearing pants for this at some point, right?" Leki deigned to say after both of you had finished your muffins. "What with the guys."
You shushed her. "I plan on going there, not bringing them here. No boys allowed!"
"Fair enough." She said, smirking.
/-/-/-
Waking up in the morning, you signed lightly, before falling out of bed gracelessly. You'd had the sense to grab your new uniform parts yesterday from the school commissary, and as you pulled on the new shirt and the oddball hat everyone in the dorm stopped to stare at you. Like it as not, you were special now. Different.
Dare you even say elite?
It was no matter as you chugged through the school day, side-cocked square top of your hat defying all expectation and reality. After the last class let out with a roar and people went to find clubs to join, you just marched down to the Tank Tent, ready to start your new job as Captain. When you got there, though, there were a passel of seniors- identifiable by their bright green hat accents and general disdain- hard at work, with one of them wearing a mirror copy of your dumbass hat. Noticing you, he walked up smartly, sticking out his hand.
"Lars Janowski, at your service."
"Celeste Ageneterre." you said as you tried to loosen up. "How are we looking?"
"Get over here to the office and I'll start explaining." He said, leading you to a card table, filing cabinet, and old laptop. "Right now, we've got five old Renault Ft-17s, a selection of weapons, a ludicrous amount of fuel we're going to go through like vodka at a bachelor party, ammo for said weapons, and nine spare power packs. All the ATF paperwork's been filed, stamps paid, et cettera. The issue right now is people."
"We need crew, don't we." You said, voice dry.
"An Ft-17 takes a two-man crew, so we need another nine people, plus maintenance crew of… eh call it thirty; thirty-nine total. The idiot horndogs we'll get can be fobbed off on maintenance until they shape up or drop out, the rest we'll put with you in the tanks. Which leads us to our next big question- coaches."
Opening up the series of dossiers on the card table- it wasn't your desk yet, honestly- and looking them over, you found a mess of pictures and information.
"I'll give you a few minutes to look them over." Janowski said, walking off. "MERIDITH! WE'RE GETTING RECRUITS IN THIRTY! GET THE CHAIRS OUT!"
Digging in, you got to reading. Most of the information was dry and clinical- last place of employment, excerpts of resumes and letters of recommendation, old logos and brag patches and things you couldn't make heads or tails of… but then there were the portraits. Those caught in your mind.
The first was a young woman, dark, frizzy hair raked back in a stiff bun with a cigarette hanging out of her lips and a light smirk over a dark blue jacket in long cut. Angelique Cerdan, the daughter of a pair of pied-noir, graduated the Universitie d'Toulon, spent three years as a member of the South France team, but couldn't get into the National Team and instead going into coaching. Her letter promised a spirit of fire and elan, and her resume made her out to be a large proponent of light units, independent actions, and maneuverer doctrine. Equally importantly, she'd also serve as one of the school's French teachers, giving you a class you'd probably ace provided you didn't screw up your tank-work badly.
Next up was her opposite in almost every way. Short, with sandy-auburn hair and a devilish smirk, August Becker was a German from the highlands with a reasonable track record. Graduated out of Vienna Polytechnic, two years as a driver on the tracked rally circuit and eight in an amateur team in Dresden to good successes. Short stint in the Czech Republic as a substitute driver for the Brno team, and he got into coaching shortly after to absolutely no success with their older Soviet tank parks. His letters were energetic, with a more tempered air and marvelous determination, which combined with his resume suggested a focus on teamwork-based operations, battlefield tactics and deception, and a firm understanding of the mechanics of your tank. Also, like Cerdan, he would likely serve as a language teacher to your GPA's relief.
Following that was a bit more of a mystery choice, hailing originally from Ukraine of all places. Yekatarina Dryagina was probably the most successful tanker on her own merits here, spending two years on the Ukrainian National Team in an unlisted position, before moving down into coaching and back up into a couple of private teams. Still, over fourteen years in the job, there was a solid record buried in there even if there wasn't an attached educational listing. Also unlike the other bios, there was no pictures, or even descriptions. Janowski had included a 'probable' photo of her on the shoulders of one of the top gunners in the Ukrainian National Team from '12, but the key word was probable: her tank's ID number wasn't even noted in the bios. Her cover letter emphasized she would teach a competitive, group-focused style based around close coordination to overcome superior enemy vehicles, maneuvering in all terrains, and sound foundations for field repair and vehicle improvement.
Rounding things off were the coaches from closer to home. Luke DuBois was a member of the Midwest Tankery Confederation, and currently was a gunner for the Lima Armory Demonstration Team that was looking to get out of the tank for a few years to clean out his medical record after a failed Air-Dropped Tank System test ended up breaking both arms and his skull. Since a closed-head injury larger than a concussion was a four-year competitive benching, it made a good deal of sense. Six years with the demonstration team and a degree from Ohio State (in anthropology of all things) made him a solid pick, plus the invisible benefit of speaking English as his first language. Unfortunately, he'd be a coach only, so there wouldn't be any grade-boosting off him, but on the plus side he was the most well-rounded of the teachers and promised to coach according to the MTC guidebook, which had won the US National team two World Cups back in '97 and '03.
Following him was Cameron Nicols, a Newfie with a head of shaggy hair and a devil-may-care grin that screamed death and destruction. While his was the shortest record- four years in the University of Montreal and two in the Quebec Char de Combat Escardon Deux- he also had tank command for three wins to two losses in the America-Canada International, one Canadian Cup, and had been on the podium for all his years of university. While not a teacher for classes, he did promise to bring to the table a style that was focused around team strategies and tactics, timed assaults and terrain use, and most importantly in his eyes battle coordination through poor weather and enemy interference.
Once you were done reading the dossiers, you stood up with a groan, before taking the time to roll your arms a few times and walk over to the main area. Smirking, Janowski just looked at you, before pointing over at fifteen of your classmates now wearing the Tankery Team Hat.
"I got you some rookies." Janowski said, grinning. "The horndogs are washing the tanks."
Staring at the crowd, you sighed. "We have nine open slots- this is nearly double that!"
"And you'll get more tanks the more you fight." Janowski said, shrugging. "If nothing else, bringing in wins should shake loose some sponsorship, and even if you don't win a medical bench should help. Rules are three weeks off for a concussion, and there's no getting around that."
You winced. Right, medical benching. Had to account for that.
"Either way, pick a driver, and have fun." He said, grinning. "I'm gonna go see if my boyfriend's free, make sure you get those recommendations sent up the chain, and remember nobody's actually allowed to do anything until the instructor gets here."
"Right, right." You said, trying to smile. Going over to the crowd of rookies, you tried to smile, failed, and sighed before plopping down in a chair. "Anyone who wants to be a driver, right side of the tent. Everyone else, left."
That got you six drivers. Good? Maybe? Hell, you were clueless here! Either way, you had to pick one of them! Oh hell why did you ever agree this might be a good idea!?
-/-/-/-/-/
VOTES
(Plan voting is allowed for this one due to the second vote item)
Is your driver a boy or a girl?
[] Boy
[] Girl
Vote for coaches; choose up to 3. GM will choose from top 2 with consideration from discussion.
[] Angelique Cerdan (FR)
[] August Becker (DE)
[] Yekatarina Dryagina (UA)
[] Luke DuBois (US)
[] Cameron Nicols (CA)