[NAME]: Panov "Ironshell" Cakekowski
[SEX/GENDER]: Male
[FACTION]: RCP
[BRANCH]: Red Army; Armoured Division
[ROLE]: Tank Crewman (Commander)
[VEHICLE]: Warmaster MkII (Tank)
[CREW]: Jenkins (gunner/spotter); Pork (ammo loader); Parham (driver)
What fucking difference does it make how it started...
B) Go check on the tanks to take your mind off the pain.
Enough feeling sorry for yourself. You're headed for the other tanks to make sure they're all ready to go, and that the men are keeping an ear out for things to pop off. You don't forget to half-tease Jenkins before leaving. "Who gives a shit about who started it? It wasn't us Reds, and that's all I need to know to start sending these sunnysides to the skillet."
"Oh, heh. Right, top."
You sigh before leaving.
Shut up, Jenkins, you hear yourself say internally. It seems everything is green as far as the set-up goes. "Sir".
Turning around slowly, you see a tall, skinny comrade standing at attention. "Your armour element is ready. I just got word from my unit. 10th NCOIC says he's keeping a mental note of what you're gonna be doing when the Yolks come." As assumed, the 10th are going to skirt the line between following their CO's orders and doing whatever they damn-well please to stay alive. Again, you did not order these men. No. You simply told them a hypothetical story. What they do with that knowledge is their decision as grown-ass men to make.
"Uh, okay", you reply, before you hear a loud 'BOOM'. You and the skinny underling who chatted you up exchanged 'oh, shit' looks before dashing off in opposite directions. You're certain it's a Union attack! You have to get back to your tank and ready up. Shit's about to get real (again).
While you're making for your tank at lightspeed, you can see a small armoured car travelling in the opposite direction, much slower than you think it should be. "All Coalition personnel to their stations and all local civilians need to stay indoors. This is currently a hot zone. Repeat: if you are not Coalition, stay indoors, this village and the surrounding area is now a hot zone." That's what it's saying. Well, the guy using the megaphone mounted on its roof, anyway. No shit, you think to yourself.
Your crew, save for Parham, are already in the garage and ready to go.
"Already checked her, top. She's ready to go." Jenkins practically dives into the tank, followed by Pork, who tosses you your gear.
"Catch, Sarge."
You catch, without much effort. The tank starts up with a satisfying growl. You know she's gonna roll like new. "Wait. Where the FUCK is Parham?!" This irritates you a bit, because Parham is your driver and you're pretty sure he heard the rally. Don't worry. He arrives moments later, with the same dopey look on his face that you caught sight of when you first met him.
"Heya", he says. "Don't leave without me!" He nearly trips on the way to the tank.
"Why would we leave you, jackass? You're our driver." Pork replies. "Fuck yeah! You ready, ladies?!" With crew-wide nods, you shift your eyes forward with a smirk.
"Ironshell, rolling out!"
= = =
What idiots. It's nearly pitch black, and the Yolks are attacking from the east. That's the place with the hardest entrance possibility thanks to your improvements. The two Coalition tanks at the front are going to take care of a good portion of the enemy armour, but you're worried about . . .
[A] Write in . . .
Yup. Full write-in shit, mates. Since you guys seem more informed about tank warfare than yours truly, you'll get to flex your tactical muscle. But uh, there will be a wild card this time around. Be advised.