TL: Chapter 3 - Eject
The battle had been a success. The Falkendorf Team returned to their base, carrying the fuel they had raided from the enemies’ camp. As soon as they were back at their own base, everyone queued up to refuel. The tanks were forming a long line north of the main square, where they kept all their fuel in a depot. It was a rare good nowadays, which was the cause of all the fighting in the first place. In teams like this one, where there was no real leader, everyone should have the same rights; the ones who were first in line to refuel were supposedly the most experienced who performed best on the battlefield and therefore had earned the most respect … but usually the ones who thought they were entitled to it for whatever other reason. “What an easy victory! No team is a match for us!” the team’s Challenger boasted to the Jackson standing next to her. Behind these two, stuck somewhere in the middle of the queue, but intentionally before the disagreeable T-150, waited a T29. If he had cared, he could have been among the first to receive his fuel — but it was a pointless game in his opinion. No one got more fuel than they direly needed anyway. It didn’t matter who went first; everyone received as much as was intended for their model. It was decided beforehand, when the looted fuel was counted. He turned to his radio. “Sometimes, I miss the old days, you know?” A curious voice replied. «You?» The queue moved on. The T29 rolled forward slowly, contemplating his answer. The Falkendorf Team’s victories were never easy. There had been times when he, too, had believed they were — when every battle had been a novelty, every enemy tank had been a stranger, and every victory had been intoxicating. “At least back then, people still knew what an ‘easy’ victory looks like,” he eventually grouched. There was a chuckle from the radio. «Well, if you think my strategy sucked, just tell me outright.» The T29 halted again as the queue stopped yet again. He turned his turret to the side, where a Centurion was standing nearby. He was looking back at the T29, probably waiting for a reply. Before either one of them could say anything else, however, a loud voice caught their attention. To the T29, it wasn’t an inherently unpleasant voice; but it always said unpleasant things and belonged to an unpleasant tank, so the heavy immediately registered it as such. “When are we moving on?!” their GW Panther asked. The T29 watched the Centurion flinch and turn around as the GW Panther drove up to him. The Centurion started an attempt to placate her, but in vain. She didn’t want to be placated. She was trying to cause a scene, judging by the way she was making sure to speak loud enough for everyone to hear. She was always asking this. Always making trouble. She had already received her fuel since she had lined up way in the beginning of the queue, thinking herself the most important tank in the team. Now she seemed to have nothing better to do than to antagonise her teammates. The T29 made an irked “Tch”, but before he could decide whether he wanted to step in, the T-150 behind him impatiently asked if he was sleeping. Looking forward, the T29 noticed that the queue had moved on. He didn’t even look back at the Russian tank, and instead just turned his turret forward again and slowly rolled on.