Chapter 2

Once her room was thoroughly blanketed with the sun's rays, Valarie awoke. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, which reported that the time was 8:17 A.M and let out a soft yawn. Seven hours of sleep during the weekend was pretty good by her standards. While she would typically remain in bed, browsing on her phone while reading about, unsurprisingly, all things related to tanks, as she waited for her mother's call for breakfast, for today, Valarie was already out of bed. She grabbed some towels and had a warm shower, slipped into some new clothes, and felt refreshed and energized, precisely the mood she needed to be in for what she planned for today. Valarie sat at her desk back in her room and got straight underway to complete all of her assigned homework. Usually, she'd procrastinate on her homework, with Sunday nights typically being a frenzied rush to finish all of it, her writing sloppy, and her mother looking on, being wonderfully encouraging.

"If only you had forty-eight hours to do homework, where you could pace everything out and not rush through it. Oh well, I guess it can't be helped."

That made four comedians, four too many.

The homework load was, much to her relief, light. She was finished within an hour and felt incredibly good and happy to see that her writing was legible and not an embarrassment. Her homework was stowed away, and now, she could right down to business for the school's new tankery team. Officially, the team only had two members, herself and Emma. Ray and his friends would sign up after school, which brought the total to six. Not a bad start, but more was always better.

"Who else do I know could I convince joining?" she pondered.

Some people she knew in her classes would join the team without a second thought, as they wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to give the Earth a few more craters. For others, she felt iffy about. They were the type of people who don't enjoy going out of their comfort zone and being in a tank, shooting, and being shot at is quite a departure. Of course, as proven by yesterday, surprises can come from anywhere and anyone. Though, even if one hundred students joined up, it would mean nothing if they had no tanks. The IS-3 was a great start but a team isn't one tank. They'd have to find more, and soon, or else people will start to lose interest and leave.

"Breakfast is ready!" yelled her mom.

The aroma of cooked food briefly interrupted her train of thought, and she raced off to the kitchen. At the table, she found a large plate of fried bacon and scrambled eggs. A simple meal but an unrivaled American classic, so she had not a thing to complain about. As eggs were eaten and pieces of bacon cut, Valarie was in deep thought. Where can more tanks be found and acquired? They were dealerships, but they were hopelessly expensive, only perused by the more well-to-do schools. Concern spread within her, something her face showed, and her mother noticed.

"What's wrong, Val?" she asked.

"I don't know where to find tanks for the team. We just have one so far."

Her mother finished her breakfast and set down her fork. "Well, the only tanks I've seen are in museums, and I doubt those people are gonna let you take 'em," She rose and grabbed her plate and Valarie's, putting them in the sink. "You've been in this town all your life, but do you really think you've been everywhere?"

Valarie absorbed the words her mom said. They rang true, she hasn't been in every acre in town. She mostly stayed in the same areas, her neighborhood, the school, and the shopping plaza. Only when she and Emma hung out did she explore more of her hometown, though they did often go to the same place every time, where all teenagers typically congregate; the mall.

This gave her some confidence, as not every stone in town has been turned. The weekend was spent preparing for Monday, where she composed a list of things to do to get the tankery team up and running. Late Sunday evening, while Valarie was finalizing what she wrote, her mother called her. She went to her and was presented with a plastic bag.

"What's this?"

"A gift for the boy who helped you." her mother replied.

Inside the bag was a thank-you card and an assortment of candy, chocolate bars, peanut butter cups, taffy, and some candy canes.

"All that candy better get to him unscathed," her mother said sternly.

"It will. It will"

"Alright, honey, good night and good luck tomorrow. I know you'll do great."

As her mother left for bed, Valarie put aside the gift bag next to her backpack so that she wouldn't forget it. Another glance was taken at the notes she created. It was only a few pages long and contained the bare fundamentals of tankery team operations she has learned over the years being immersed in the sport. With a nod, she put her notes away and shut off the light. Somehow, despite her eagerness, she managed to fall asleep.

***

Monday

When the bus stopped in front of the school, a group of students piled out, rubbing shoulders together as they did. Among the squeezed students, Valarie and Emma, side-by-side, headed to the front gate. Naturally, the pair would hang and chat for a few minutes before classes start, however, Emma had to run to class early to finish a group project. Valarie wasn't too disappointed as she had some business to take care of.

As she walked on campus, she scanned the scattered crowds in search of a certain boy. They were in their own bubbles, spending the few minutes they have socializing before class beings. She soon walked to a pair of empty benches and sat down, her head on a swivel as she continued to look for Ray. Among all the chatting students was the howling of the dry desert winds that rustled the trees' leaves, their colors shades of yellow and oranges as it well into the fall. It was an atmosphere that, oddly, Valarie enjoyed and could just listen to for hours on end. She then felt a tap on her shoulder that made her jolt slightly with fright before finding out the prod came from Ray. Her new friend and soon-to-be official commander of the IS-3.

"Oh, hey." she greeted.

"Hi, I'm glad I found ya," Ray said. He handed her a slip of paper. Valarie looked at what was written and saw a string of numbers. "My contact info. Since we are going to be a team, we might as well share numbers. Start a group chat or something."

Valarie pocketed the paper. "Thanks. That's a good idea...hey...since we're exchanging stuff...here."

She gave Ray the gift bag. He opened it and made a little sound when he saw all the candy.

"Oooh! Is this for me?" he questioned

"Yup. Thanks for helping me when I ate that road sign."

"Anytime," Ray replied, already tearing off the wrapper of a piece of chocolate. "Ya know," he said with a mouthful of the sweet. "Something tells me that won't be the first time I come to your rescue."

They smirked at each other.

"We'll see. Bye."

Valarie made her way to her first class of the day. She took her unassigned assigned seat near the back and eagerly awaited for the morning announcements, something that she would otherwise tune out. The people at their desks around her were either on their phones or staring into space—just a typical Monday morning. As the last of the students trickled in, the teacher took attendance and began their lesson. A few minutes into the lesson, the PA system crackled on.

"Good Morning, Dust Devils! It is Monday, October 22nd, 2012. Here are your morning announcements!"

Redwood was the person who gave the announcements and did so with great enthusiasm. At times, Valarie got a severe case of second-hand embarrassment over how he announced upcoming events. Because, really, no one is that excited over a recycling drive. As Redwood raddled on, Valarie awaited with bated breath for one announcement in particular. Then she heard this,

"Dust Devils, we have a unique opportunity for y'all today. The school is starting its own tankery team in preparation for the National Tankery Tournament, and we need you! Head to Room 34 at the West Quad if interested after school!"

Immediately upon the conclusion of the announcements, Valarie gauged the reactions in the room. There were some hushed conversations but not the enthusiasm that she hoped for. Perhaps she let her fantasies get the better of her. Not everyone was a fanatic about tankery how she was. Well, no one could ever hope to match that. She turned to the person on her right, a girl named Heather. A rather slender, tall girl with long black hair and bangs that almost covered the top half of her eyes.

"So, what do you think about that? Tankery, huh?" she asked.

Heather thought for a moment.

"Pretty cool. I'm gonna swing by to see what's up," she replied softly.

Heather and Valarie only talked to each other when in class with the occasional wave when walking past each other outside of it. She was timid and reserved, and it took Valarie time and effort to slowly get her out of her shell. When she did, the fruit of her labor was bizarre conversations. Valarie loved it, and Heather, not very expressive, was internally joyful to talk to someone about her peculiar interests, one that was responsive and asked more questions and not merely say 'Uh-huh' and 'Cool' in an indifferent tone.

They both took notes as the lesson resumed and talked when they could, with Valarie sharing her endless knowledge of tanks to hype Heather up for later today. Valarie saw a faint gleam of excitement in Heather's eyes and smiled. She was sure the team now had another team member. With hours left to go, all Valarie could do now was wait. She's been doing that a lot lately.

At the end of the school day, Valarie and Emma walked together to Room 34 in the West Quad. This place was relatively isolated compared to the rest of the campus. In these portable buildings, they don't hold classes but rather for clubs to congregate. While the place gave Valarie some spooky vibes, it would be where the tankery team will meet on a regular basis. When the pair entered the room, Redwood was the sole person in the room.

"Hey, girls," he greeted.

"Hello, has anyone come by yet?" asked Emma

"No, but I just got here, so let's sit tight."

Not even a minute later, and two more people walked in the door. It was Ray and Ryan.

"Hey boys, you here for tankery?" questioned Redwood

"Yes, sir," replied Ray.

"Great, take these registration forms, please."

The two boys grabbed the papers and sat next to the girls. They greeted each other, and all got started on writing on the forms.

"Where are the others?" Valarie inquired.

"Oh, they're on their way. They just gotta bring something first". He winked as he finished his sentence.

More people arrived, all girls. This made Ray and Ryan a bit anxious though none of the new girls made any comments toward them. Some did look at them longer than the boys would've liked, but so far, no complaints. Once the room was getting filled up, Redwood began speaking.

"Hello everyone, welcome to the Mojave Rose High School Tankery team. I am quite pleased with the turnout, we got a real proper team here. Now, before I forget, I'm going to pass the registration forms. Per American Tankery Association rules, anyone under the age of eighteen needs parent permission, so don't forget that."

As the forms were being passed around, there was the approaching hum of an engine. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and listened intensely.

"Excuse me," said Redwood. "I'll check this out. Valarie, take care of the rest of the forms."

Redwood passed the pile of papers to Valarie and left the room. She did what she was told and passed forms to the students who haven't yet to receive them. As she went around, Ryan and Ray looked at the forms they already had, completed, now just needing their parent's signature. They were about to recline and relax a little when the sounds of furious footsteps snatched their attention.

"What are you two doing here?" said an irritated voice.

"Wha—" began Ray but was interrupted. In front of the desk he sat was a girl who had a face that told him that his presence was not at all tolerated.

"You do know that tankery a girl's sport, right?" she said with venom in her voice.

The boys were visibly uncomfortable, unsure over what to do or say to diffuse the situation if they even could. Valarie acted quickly and intervened.

"Hey! I told them about this. Why can't they join?"

"You have ever seen the ads for tankery?" said the girl. "All women. These guys are only here to pick-up dates."

The tension in the room was building, and Valarie feared it erupting into something awful. If this wasn't resolved quickly, then the team would fall apart far before their first practice.

"We are not going anywhere," Ray said defiantly. "Also, two more guys are coming, too, so we're here to stay."

"Oh yeah ?" the girl responded sternly. "If you don't leave, I'll—"

"Title IX," spoke a voice.

The bickering students turned their attention to the voice. It was Heather, tucked in one of the corners of the room.

"What are you talking about?" questioned the annoyed girl.

Heather looked directly at her. "Title IX of the Educational Amendments of 1972 forbids discrimination on the basis of sex in sports. Mandating an all-female tankery team would be illegal."

Now it was the irritated girl's turn to be flustered. "B-but...all that marketing—"

"It's just that. Marketing."

The girl just sat down, arms crossed and looking dead ahead at the front of the room, no further acknowledging Ray and his friends. She was still annoyed at the thought that boys would be participating but not enough to quit. She'll tolerate them...For now.

The door then flung open, and Redwood waltzed in with evident excitement. "Hey, guys! Come outside and check this out!"

Intrigued, everyone in the room stood up and followed Redwood around the corner. As they did, surprised gasps and shouts came from them all. Parked on the patch of dirt next to one of the buildings was the IS-3. Jeremy and Cesar were late but arrived spectacularly.

"Everyone, allow me to introduce the first tank in our roster."

The entire group surrounded the tank. They were talking, touching, and taking pictures with the machine. Even the annoyed girl from earlier showed a slight smile as she reached high to touch the muzzle barrel. While everyone was admiring the tank as if it were an art piece, Redwood pulled Valarie aside.

"As part of the requirements of the Association, this team will need an instructor. If we can find one that would fulfill all of the requirements, we'd be golden. My plate is full right now, so I'm entrusting you to find one."

"Um...okay," Valarie responded in an uneasy tone.

Redwood returned to the group and continued work with getting people registered. Valarie went to Emma, where she noticed the look on Valarie's face.

"What's wrong?" she inquired.

"We gotta find a tankery instructor, or at least, someone with previous tankery experience."

"Really? Where the hell do we find someone like that?"

"I know one," said Heather, spooking both girls. She was just standing outside the peripheral vision of both girls. Somehow she knew exactly where to stand to not be noticed.

"You...know a tankery instructor?" Valarie probed.

"Instructor? I don't know. But I do know that she was in tankery when she was younger," Heather replied. "I can take you to her."

Valarie and Emma looked at each other briefly, then nodded. They followed Heather out of the campus and into the parking lot. From her pocket, she withdrew some keys and pressed on a button. A nearby car lit up and was unlocked.

"Woah...you can drive?" Emma asked, amazed.

"Yep. Got my license back in March."

The trio drove off. While driving, Valarie asked Heather about the person they were going to meet.

"So, how do you know this person?"

"She's a neighbor."

"When did she do tankery?"

"Oh, from the late 80s to the early 90s."

Valarie never anticipated that the person was old and last did tankery over twenty years ago. What does someone who hasn't been in the game for so long have to teach? Valarie decided not to judge quite yet. They soon arrived at the apartment complex where Heather lived in. They all entered and ascended a few flights of stairs. When they reached the right floor, Heather stopped. "She's a bit of a recluse, so if she acts weird...Now you know."

"I've met my fair share of weirdos," said Valarie. "As long as she isn't a total lunatic, we'll be alright. By the way, what's her name?

"Gabrielle Buchanan."

They walked to the door, and as they stood in front of it, Heather hesitated for a moment then knocked on the door. Within, the girls heard the sound of a raspy cough and stumbling footsteps. One by one, the locks were disengaged, and the door was opened slightly, just enough for a head to poke out.

"What do you kids want?" Buchanan asked.

Just from seeing her face, Valarie and Emma learned a lot about Buchanan. Her messy blonde hair and tired eyes spoke volumes. A tan this late in the year clearly indicated that this person spent most of their time outside. Valarie introduced the trio.

"Hi, we're students from Mojave Rose. The high school is starting a tankery team, and we'd love if you—".

The moment the word 'tankery' was uttered went from being stoic to expressing a combination of anger and panic.

"No!" she yelled, startling the three students. "I'm not going anywhere a god-damn tank! Leave me alone!"

The door was slammed in their faces. They remained there for a few moments before the shock wore off.

"What the hell is her problem?!" Emma said, breaking the silence.

"I don't know...I've never seen her like that," Heather replied.

Valarie could only sigh.

"I'll drive you guys home." Heather continued

They left. Dejected.

Heather dropped off Valarie at her home, where the two exchanged goodbyes, and the car sped away. Valarie's evening was spent doing her routine tasks but what she had seen earlier was on her mind. Her mission at hand was to find an instructor, but she was captivated by Buchanan's outburst. She wanted to get to the bottom of this. She'd need to talk to a person who has been in this town their whole life. She knew the perfect person.

***

Tuesday

In school the next day, during her lunch period, Valarie headed straight to Redwood's office. Inside the cold administration building, Redwood was in his office, typing away. She knocked on the open door.

"Hey Valarie, How's it going?" he greeted.

"Hi. Can we talk?

"Always. Have a seat, Valarie. What's on your mind?

Valarie took her seat and exhaled.

"So, this is about the instructor you told me to find."

Redwood stopped typing and reclined in his chair. "Oh, so you found one?"

"Well, kind of...it's complicated."

Redwood had a fascinated look on his face. "...Complicated?"

"Does the name Gabrielle Buchanan ring any bells?"

Redwood seemed to freeze and sank into his chair.

"You went to her, huh?" he asked solemnly.

"Yeah, what's up with her? Why did she freak out when I mentioned the word 'tankery'?"

"Trauma," Redwood replied simply.

"Wha-what happened?" Valarie inquired. The uneasiness in her voice was not at all subtle.

Redwood shifted in his seat.

"Get comfortable Val, I got one helluva story to tell."

Valarie paid full attention.

"Once upon a time, the Mojave was the place in California for tankery, and Barstow was at the epicenter."

***

Mojave Desert

July 4th, 1990

Independence Day Tankery Friendlies

Though today was just a friendly match, Gabrielle Buchanan remained as competitive as ever. She treated it as an official match and intended to win. The sun was high in the sky, and the heat was unmerciful. Gabrielle was the commander of an M4A3E8, the ever-popular Easy Eight. While the outside was being baked by the outside sun, there was some relief. The cool breeze helped, but real comfort was within the Sherman. While some would assume that a metal vehicle would have its innards be a furnace for the occupants, the Sherman crew had installed a rudimentary air conditioning system. While not the most sophisticated system in the world, compared to the outside, the crew was in heaven.

It did the job decently enough.

The Sherman traversed the harsh Mojave, its desert camouflage entirely hiding it against the sandy environment. Gabrielle could only see the endless hills from her viewports, with dry vegetation dotted throughout the landscape. She checked her map and compass frequently to verify they were on the right track. It has been over an hour since she split from the main team, performing recon. The radio was continually belching out statuses and updates from other tanks. Gabrielle tuned them out as she concentrated on the task at hand. "Stop the tank," she ordered.

Erica, the driver, dutifully complied. The vehicle halted right next to a large rocky hill, which provided some more measure of concealment. The turret was rotated toward an open area. This was an ideal spot to do some reconnaissance...And maybe do an ambush.

"Kendra, load an AP round."

The loader reached down and inserted the 76mm armor-piercing shell into the breech. It was heavy, but Kendra has loaded the cannon hundreds of times. She did the task effortlessly.

"Alright, we're waiting now. Keep a sharp eye."

All of the crew remained vigilant though it was Gabrielle who had the viewports. If anything were to come into view, she'd see it first. That, and she also had a pair of binoculars. The crew was silent, with the only words in hearing range coming from the radio.

"Hill, any visuals?" a voice said, crackling.

"Nothing. Moving to next position." replied another.

"All tanks be advised…" That was the team commander. Gabrielle and her crew focused on what she says. "Flores has spotted a portion of the enemy team. Grid reference, 11SNU7142659619."

Seems like the other team has also separated. Gabrielle looked at her map. Where those enemy tanks were was way on the other side of the hill they were in. They might be driving toward her position where she can then ambu—

Gabrielle froze when she spotted a vehicle far in the distance; its silhouette was small.

Is it going away from us or coming toward us? She wondered.

Then a flash.

"Reverse! Reve—"

The Sherman violently shuddered when it was struck by the enemy shell. So much so that the crew was helplessly smashed against the vehicle's inner walls, the parts of their body not padded were bruised. Gabrielle suffered the worst of it. Though she was wearing a helmet, her head smacked against the wall with such force that she was instantly unconscious. She came too some minutes later, how much exactly she didn't know. She felt so disorientated and was on the verge of vomiting but whatever strength she had left was enough to keep her insides, inside. She couldn't see anything, her vision cloudy. Her eyes stung harshly, not from sweat, no, she knew how it felt like when sweat dripped down her eyes. This was worse. It hurt, it hurt so much.

When she breathed in, she could smell something was in the air that wasn't there before the impact, but she was too out of it to figure out what. Its odor was strong, pungent...and suffocating. She found it harder and harder to breathe, and what air she did take in scorched her lungs.

By her feet, she felt a warm sensation. Was that always there? She couldn't remember, her head was rolling with pain that made thinking impossible. This sensation got warmer.

Very warm.

Burning.

The Easy-Eight's radio miraculously still worked, and out from it came frenzied voices, but Gabrielle couldn't understand a word of it. She wasn't entirely there, both in pain and felt sleepy. That heat she was feeling, she could now hear—the thunderous roar of flames.

The tank was on fire.

Gabrielle tried to open the hatch above her, but the metal burned her hands. She yelped in pain and looked at her hands, where she saw harsh burn marks. The smoke grew thicker, black as pitch, and was ever more intoxicating. Her coughs were getting more hoarse by the moment, and each time she did, the pain was increasing. Her coughs were so rough that she honestly thought she was coughing out pieces of her lungs.

What consciousness she regained was already slipping away due to the overpowering smoke, her vision flickering in and out, a blackness surrounded it and was growing by each passing moment. This was it. She was going to die. If Gabrielle wasn't so weakened by it all, she would be full-on panicking, trying desperately to scramble out of her doomed machine, more than willing to burn the flesh on her hands to open the blazing-hot metal hatch. But, she could scarcely move. She was concussed and intoxicated by the smoke. All that could be done now was to accept her fate. But, even in a literal hell, she had a choice. She could choose how she would die, as morbid as it was. She could either succumb to the flames or let the smoke render her unconscious for the last time. She chose the latter as at least when she does finally die, she wouldn't feel it. Gabrielle used what strength she had left to take in as much of the choking smoke she could into her lungs. With every breath, she felt her consciousness slip away...her breathing slowing...vision closing...

Suddenly, the hatch above was flung open and sunlight pierced through the deadly smoke. A pair of wounded hands reached in and grabbed Gabrielle by the collar of her uniform, scorched and tattered. Now outside, she was dragged to a safe distance away from the torched Sherman. She was coughing incessantly while breathing in every ounce of fresh air that tasted sweeter than nectar. As she lay on the sand, she was surrounded by her crew. All were visibly shaken, their faces covered with soot and burns. Their eyes were red, partly because of the smoke, but also because they were in tears. Kendra, the girl who returned to the tank, ignoring the pain from the hot as hell metal that melted her flesh, was the one who saved Gabrielle upon realizing she wasn't among them when the crew bailed out. She poured cold water on Gabrielle's face, washing away the soot and to bring some kind of relief, no matter how small.

"Don't get up, Gabby, save your strength," she said weakly. "We gotta wait for the ambulance."

"W-what...what happened?" Gabrielle asked after a minute of breathing. Her lungs, though now filled with fresh air, still felt as if they were on fire.

"When we got hit, it set off a fire. I... I don't know how," responded Erica despondently. She buried her face in her arms and cried. Presumably, she was crying the entire time Gabrielle was in the tank.

The black smoke billowing out of every opening of the tank was suddenly replaced by a rush of flames. Hatches that were closed were blown open. A loud, screeching hiss was heard as jets of fire blasted out as the Sherman's ammo load cooked off. The girls could only watch as their tank burned when Gabrielle just set her head down and looked straight up at the cloudless Mojave sky. Sirens were heard from the rushing ambulances, initially distant, were now rapidly drawing near. Gabrielle was still supremely weary, but the fresh air helped her understand just how close she came to meeting the Grim Reaper. This understanding horrified her. Her eyes instantly widened as she did what she couldn't do in the tank.

Scream. A loud, deafening, screech.

She fell unconscious right after.

***

Present Day

"Later, in an investigation, it was found that the protective carbon lining where the shell hit has significantly deteriorated. The round punched through and ignited a fuel tank. " Redwood recalled. He was in attendance in the match all those years ago, and since then, gathered all the bits and pieces to get a full understanding of everything that transpired.

Valarie hasn't moved in inch during the entire story, utterly captivated.

"They were lucky. Bailing out of a tank isn't really something taught in tankery, not to mention one that is one fire. Those things...just weren't expected."

"So, that's why Buchanan freaked out. She was nearly burned alive," said Valarie. "What happened after that?"

"Tankery in the Mojave was transformed. Essentially overnight, the mood toward the sport soured. No one wanted anything to do with it. By 1991, all the local teams were defunct. For Buchanan and her crew, the American Tankery Association gave them hefty settlements for medical costs and then some. While I don't know the exact amount of the settlement, I do know that Gabrielle hasn't worked a job since then. The other crew members used the money to move out of town. Haven't heard of them since."

Redwood noted the look of concern on Valarie's face. He acted quickly. "But hey, since then, the sport has never been safer. The carbon lining has been improved to a point where failure is a fantasy. As long as they are maintained, of course."

Valarie drew a breath and relaxed, now back at ease.

"The sport had its ups and downs, but its safety record is pretty rock-solid compared to other sports. Anyway, Gabrielle, as an instructor, is a no-go. It's still up to you to find someone else."

"Fine. Thanks, Mr. Redwood."

"No problem, see you at the meeting later!"

***

At the apartment complex, a middle-aged woman walked up the staircase. Her legs ached each step, for she spent the day hiking out in the desert. It was one of the things she did to occupy her time, something to get her mind distracted. Once she reached her floor, she walked toward her door, her head tilted toward the ground. She had a lot on her mind, for within was a whirlwind of emotion that was on the brink of bursting out of her skull.

When she entered her apartment, she didn't bother to turn on the lights and sat on the couch. She preferred the darkness. It meant that she didn't have to see herself in the mirror, the woman she had become. She dropped her hiking equipment on the floor, not at all carrying where exactly she dropped it. Her clothes were covered with desert dust and drenched with sweat.

As Gabrielle sat in the dark and her filth, she thought about yesterday. When those kids came and asked her to be an instructor, and her immediately slamming the door in their faces as a gut-reaction.

The sleep that night wasn't good, though it rarely was. The memories of that day in 1990 came back with a vicious vendetta. Was this going to be life for the rest of her days? The trauma has already consumed so much of it. She wants to heal but never knew how. What happened yesterday could be a solution, a way to overcome and start a new chapter. She sat for over an hour, nearly motionless, thinking. If there was a chance to heal, she must take it, no matter the chances of it actually working. With a resolve she hasn't felt in years, she stood straight up from the couch and marched out of her apartment. Taking an immediate left, she headed straight for the door down the hall. She walked with purpose to a specific door and knocked politely. When it opened, a woman of similar age answered. Though appearance-wise, the contrast couldn't be starker.

"Um, hello. How can I help you?" asked the woman, slightly concerned.

"I'm here to speak with Heather, is she here?" replied Gabrielle.

The woman hesitated briefly before responding. "Yes...one moment." She departed, and Gabrielle could hear her calling her daughter. Heather appeared at the door moments later.

"Hello, Miss Buchanan. I'm sorry for yesterday, we—"

"Heather, don't be sorry." Gabrielle interrupted. "I've been thinking about what you kids offered."

Heather stood with bated breath.

"Tell your friends I've made my mind up. I'll be your instructor."

Sporting a smile, Heather hugged Gabrielle, somehow managing to ignore her odor.

"Thank you so much! This means the world to us!" she exclaimed. "Come to the high school tomorrow for our meeting."

"Oh, I'll be there," Gabrielle responded.

The two shared goodbyes. Heather, all bubbly, a rare emotional state for her, darted toward her phone and shared the good news. Gabrielle returned home, slipped out of her dirty clothes, and hopped in the water. In the water, she felt more than the grime getting washed away. When she left the shower, she felt that a heavy load was taken off her shoulder. That night, she had no trouble falling asleep. For the first time in years, she slept decently.

For her, this was already a great improvement.

***

Valarie, Emma, and Heather sat together during lunch the following school day, excitedly chatting with one another.

"So, what you're saying is that she just went up to you and 'Yeah, I'll do it'?" asked Valarie, a bit stunned

Heather shrugged. "Pretty much,"

"Well, with an instructor that makes the team official," Emma said proudly.

"She'll be here at the meeting after school," remarked Heather.

Mojave Rose High School officially had a tankery team, another step toward their first match.

As soon as the dismissal bell rang, Valarie and Emma made their way to Room 34, and already was there a group of students within. Redwood, too, was there, collecting signed forms.

"Hey, girls. Got your forms?" he said upon seeing them.

They turned in their papers and took their seats, as Heather then entered the room. She talked with Redwood briefly, who put on a happy face. Once they were done chatting, Heather sat with Valarie and Emma. "She's here. Miss Buchanan is walking here right now."

"Great! Now we can really make some progress," exclaimed Valarie.

Ray and his friends arrived minutes later, and they sat down next to the trio.

"So," he started. "Rumor says we have an instructor."

"Yep," responded Emma. "She'll be here any minute now."

Everyone in the room chatted away as Redwood worked on collecting forms. They paid little attention to the students that trickled in, but when the door flung open once more, and a forty-year-old woman walked in, it silenced the room. For most of them, they didn't know why she was here. Redwood stopped dead what he was going and stared at the woman, shocked. He hasn't seen her in years.

"Heeey Martin. Long-time no see," she said playfully.

"Ga...Gabrielle," Redwood stammered. "You're...You're going to be the instructor?"

She nodded. Redwood got closer and spoke in a hushed tone.

"No one forced ya to do this, right?" he asked.

"Nah, I'm here on my own volition. I'm ready to teach these kids."

Redwood breathed a sigh of relief. "It's good your here..and to see you again...and uh..well...you're at the helm now."

"Thanks...by the way, how many students will be participating?"

Redwood checked his papers.

"32," he answered.

Gabrielle stretched and clapped her hands. She looked toward all the kids in the room, who were looking back at her. Her mouth curved into a smile.

"Alright," she said, "If you're here, you are interested in tankery enough to participate. You're here because you want to do new things and perhaps feel empowered and be a better person as a result and all that jazz." She then saw Ray and the other boys. Her smile grew. "...And maybe you're here to break some stereotypes. Well, you're in the right place, though these things won't come easy. For those who want to succeed, you will get dirty, get sweaty, and your joints will ache, and by the end of it all, you'll be tankery athletes. Are you all ready to go through all of that?"

The room delivered a resounding 'yes', which brought joy for both Gabrielle and Redwood. "Now, let me introduce myself. My name is Gabrielle Buchanan, and I will be your tankery instructor. Back in the ancient year of 1990, before color TV, I commanded a Sherman M4A3E8 Easy Eight. If you don't know what that is, don't worry, you will soon. During a match, my vehicle was hit by a round, and due to a safety failure with the protective carbon lining, it was set on fire. I only barely avoided being burnt to a crisp."

Dead silence in the room. Danger in tankery was something that most of the room didn't think about, which was rather shocking as the sport was tank combat just toned down slightly.

"Not only will you be taught how to operate an armored vehicle," she continued. "You will also be drilled in various safety techniques so that no matter what emergency happens, you will know the exact things to do. She reviewed the few notes she brought with her. "I understand that we already have a tank, which is great. An IS-3, if my notes are right, and it was donated by a group of students in this room," she scanned the students in front of her. "Where are my generous kids?"

Ray and his friends raised their hands.

"Oh, you boys," said Gabrielle. "That was cool of you. It goes without saying that the IS-3 will be crewed by you. But, as it is the only tank we have, it'll be used as a training aide for now. Let's head outside." Gabrielle lead everyone outside to the heavy Soviet tank, which was still in the same spot from yesterday. "If I remember right, this vehicle has four positions; Commander, gunner, loader, and driver. Now, not all tanks will have four spots. Some may have more or less. When it's less, some people will have to fulfill more than one role. For instance, the commander of the IS-3 is also the radio operator."

Everyone was listening intently, but for Valarie, she was over the moon. This is precisely what she dreamt about, and he relished every single moment. Gabrielle climbed on top of the hull, opened hatches, and looked at the interior. For being maintained by students without any proper logistical support, it was in good shape. "Alright, everyone line up. It's time to be acquainted with tanks. Use the handholds to climb and enter the turret. Don't you fall now, can't have injuries when this team is only two days old."

For three hours, each student entered the IS-3, got familiar with each of the positions, and learned what to expect when they got their own tanks. Except for the boys, of course, they were already well acquainted with their vehicle. When Valarie sat in the commander's position and inspected, more like played, with all the tools, she nearly squealed with excitement. So much so that she completely ignored how dreadfully uncomfortable the seat was.

Soon afterward, Gabrielle allowed every student to drive the tank. Nearly everyone stalled the machine, and even the better drivers only made it fifty feet before stalling it themselves. Only Jeremy, who had all of the summer to practice with the thing, managed to drive it around with sufficient skill that made everyone on the team incredibly jealous, and Gabrielle impressed.

"Today was a good day. You all learned the basics, but we won't get better with just one tank. We need more."

"Do you know where to find them?" asked one of the girls.

Gabrielle thought for a moment, then she gestured Redwood toward her. "So, there's this junkyard about an hour out..."

"Junkyard? We need working tanks!" Redwood objected.

"Look, Martin, the tanks we'll buy there will be way cheaper than going through a dealership. Besides, fixing them up will provide the team with invaluable mechanical skills...unless, of course, that automotive club is still around, which if so, they'll be a great help."

"Reshifting budgets have done away with the automotive club and the class that was associated with it," Redwood said with a sigh. He looked down at the ground for several moments, then acquired. "Alright...we'll do what you suggested.

He turned toward the team. "Okay, on Saturday, we'll all be going to a...yard to get tanks. This will be a field trip, so you'll need permission slips. You'll get them during first period tomorrow."

With that, the second meeting of the tankery team has concluded. Everyone headed home exhausted but in good spirits. Though they currently only have one tank, they were making great progress. Soon, they'll be practicing out in the Mojave, and others were looking forward to their first match. For now, they are focused on getting more vehicles.

***

Saturday

An hour's drive from Barstow laid a junkyard filled with hundreds of vehicles, abandoned and derelict. They sat there at the mercy of the harsh desert sun. As the clock ticked to 9 A.M, a yellow school bus rolled up. As it parked, Redwood and Buchanan were the first two passengers to get off, followed by a collection of students, a good portion of who still half asleep. As Gabrielle went and talked to the owner of the junkyard, Redwood addressed the team. "Once we get more tanks, we'll be meeting earlier in the day. So get used to it now. I have."

Gabrielle returned. "Okay, the owner gave us private access till 12:30 to look around. Let's get to it."

Like a theme park, the team bolted into the junkyard, all vestiges of slumber now expunged. They immediately splintered off into smaller groups and spread out. Valarie, Emma, and Heather were together searching for a tank of their own. They passed by cars, bikes, and numerous pieces of scrap metal. Any tanks they did see was just the hull, its innards gutted out long ago.

"There are tanks here, right?" asked Emma.

"Surely, there has to be," Valarie said.

As the trio rounded a corner, they saw a solitary girl lying on a vehicle that was shaded from the sun. Valarie recognized her quickly from her chemistry class. Her short hair, rounded sunglasses, and perpetual need to always wear a tank top made her unmistakable.

"Hey there, Ashley...what are you up to?" greeted Valarie.

Ashley shifted a little, then answered. "Taking a nap. It's too early to do anything. Also, I want to shade from the sun. I sunburn waaay too easy."

"Have you found anything?" asked Valarie.

"Well, I'd had to be looking in the first place to find anything." Ashley replied, "Val, be cool and say I was looking. I just wanna rest a bit...I'll look in an hour...or two."

The trio made a few steps to leave, but Heather extended an arm to stop. She was excitedly pointing at the vehicle Ashley was lounging on.

"Oh my god…" Emma said softly.

"Why are you guys acting so weird?" inquired Ashley.

"Ashley...you found the right place to take a nap on," Valarie said joyfully.

Perplexed, Ashley got off where she was and looked at where she was resting. She made the same realization everyone else had. Her 'bed' was, in fact, a tank. Valarie took a look around and touched the front.

"Medium tank, Russian T-44, 85mm gun."

Ashley raised her hands in the air.

"All part of the plan!" she said sarcastically.

The four moved the surrounding scrap metal around the tank so that they can have a better look. Valarie climbed onto the tank and opened the commander's hatch to peer inside. It was dirty, but everything was there. A good day in a garage will get this thing in great shape.

"Guess this is our tank," Emma chirped.

While Valarie, Heather, and Emma chatted away, Ashley stood aside, scratching the back of her head. She felt a tiny bit awkward.

"Hey um...guys. Can I...uh...join ya?"

Valarie approached her and extended her hand. Ashley did the same, and the two shook hands.

"Of course. You did find the tank, after all. Besides, we need four people to operate it anyway."

The four stood in front of their T-44. The stories the thing could tell if it could speak. They remained there silently for a few moments before Emma broke the silence.

"We should find Miss Buchanan. Let her know we found a tank."

As the girls looked for their instructor, other groups had similar luck and found their own vehicles.

"Hey, this one kinda looks like a...um.." a girl paused and looked at her phone. "...A Sherman, but it's too different, and there's a kangaroo painted on it. Why?"

Another group in a different corner made a find.

"This one is flat as hell...and has no turret!" one exclaimed

At the rear of the junkyard, one group found an oddity.

"Hey, we found a ta—Wait a minute! This isn't a tank! This thing has wheels!" yelled a girl.

"Can we even use this?" said another next to her.

After a brief walkabout, Valarie and her friends found Gabrielle standing before a tank. As they caught up with her, they saw what Gabrielle was looking at. A tank that was supposed to be a Sherman Easy Eight, its hatches long gone and covered with scorch marks. Totally destroyed.

"Woah...was this—" Valarie began.

"Yup. This was my tank. Where I almost died."

Gabrielle put her hands on the tank that she once commanded and spent so much time in. Actually doing so required considerable effort, as if the air suddenly became gelatin. She had to power through, and once she did, she felt empowered, a feeling that was noticeably absent in her life. She knew that she was doing the right thing in her heart, but it made it no less emotional. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Is this why we are here?" asked Emma respectfully.

Gabrielle sniffled. "Partly." She wiped the tears off her face, cleared her throat, which still hurts after all these years, and turned to face the girls. "So, you guys found some armor?"

"Yep. A T-44." Valarie cheerfully answered.

"Good. Now that vehicle, if I remember right, needs a crew of four, and I am assuming that the four of you are operating it, yes?"

They nodded.

"Nice. That's two tanks." Gabrielle said.

A group of students appeared.

"Miss Buchanan, we found a tank, but we don't know what exactly it is." one of the girls reported.

"No problem, we'll just head over there and identify—"

As she was speaking, another group rounded the corner.

"Miss Buchanan, we found a tank."

"Okay, cool, one sec…"

And another.

"Instructor!"

All of a sudden, Gabrielle was surrounded by the team, all of them asking the same thing. She raised her hands in the air.

"Alright!" she yelled, shushing the crowd. "One at a time, I'll get to everyone."

Gabrielle was led to each and every tank that the team uncovered. She identified them and cataloged them on her clipboard.

T-44

M5 Stuart

234/2 'Puma'

ACIV Thunderbolt

Cromwell IV

Jagdpaner IV/70 (V)

VK 30.02 M.

All the vehicles the students found were collected and moved toward the front of the junkyard. The team was ecstatic and had some questions regarding some of the machines. The group that found the Puma asked,

"Can this thing even be used? It's not a tank. It's a beefed-up car."

Gabrielle studied the vehicle for a moment. "Yeah, this is permitted. Despite the name, non-tanks can be driven in tankery. If only tanks were allowed, then tank destroyers couldn't be used, and that's no fun, really."

Valarie walked up to the VK. Its size was comparable to the T-44. There was also an intense familiarity attached to it.

"This thing is a Panther in everything but name."

Gabrielle laughed a little.

"Well, not quite. There are some differences in armor thickness, but this vehicle would eventually become the Panther during the war. In tankery circles, the VK is known as the 'Budget Panther', so it's perfect for us."

As the team continued to admire their vehicles, Gabrielle went up to Redwood.

"Well, Martin, what ya think about our haul?"

He looked at the tanks with a wide grin.

"This is fantastic!"

From an office behind them, a rough-looking man walked out. He went up to the adults.

"You folks done shopping?" he asked.

"Ah...yes. Let's get right to business." Redwood responded.

The two men entered the office. Within, Redwood sat a table while the junkyard owner typed away on his computer.

"So, what's the damage?" inquired Redwood.

The man continued to type. He then swung his monitor around so Redwood could see.

"Here," he uttered.

Redwood scrutinized the number. It was higher than he liked but not absurdly expensive. Though, that was a good chunk of the budget. Thank god for that grant from the State of California. As he signed the check, his mind was racing to think about how to raise more money, though that thought was put on hold when he gave the check to the owner, who happily stored it in his safe.

"Pleasure doing business Mr. Redwood. Those vehicles will be delivered to your school Monday."

He departed the office and returned to the team.

"These tanks are ours now!" he said proudly.

The team jumped and cheered. They were on their way. As 12:30 drew near, they boarded the bus, and the ride back to school was alive with excited chatter as people talked non-stop about their tanks. They were intensely eager to learn every bolt and weld on their machines. When they returned to the high school, everyone dispersed to their homes to enjoy the weekend. Upon Valarie's return to her home, her mom greeted her.

"Hey honey, was the trip good?"

"Oh man was it!" she exclaimed

Daughter told mother about her day, and throughout the town, the scene repeated in dozens of home. A place where tankery died long ago was now being resurrected. The news spread, and it got people talking. There was a mood in the air, not yet electric, but it could be felt, and it was growing. As the Mojave Rose High School Tankery team got on its feet, the people of Barstow too made their preparations, both in expected and unexpected ways.

Valarie spent her weekend watching her old tankery tapes, ones she has watched countless times and made her the person she was today. As day turned into night, only the glow of the television illuminated her room. It was on low volume to not disturb her sleeping mother. Tape after tape, she watched with enthusiasm that has not been tempered and never will. This weekend was the best that she could ask for, nothing but tanks.

And more was yet to come.