Panzer Commander Quest #4

>Bang

>>632541

>>632541
>Bang

You quickly point at him, but before you can say anything Van Halm says “Bang.”

The field immediately burst into a cacophony of grown men shooting finger guns at each other, with members of both parties interrupting fusillades to insist that they had struck the other. This farcical battle of digital weaponry continued for far longer than it should have before an observer rushed in.

“Stop, stop, stop!” the shooting mostly stopped, “Shut up! What the hell is going on?”

Van Halm grinned at the referee. “So who got who?”

“What? Uh…” the observer took off his field cap and sighed, muttering what sounded like an expression of disbelief, “Well there were more of them than you, so,”

“But we shot first,” one of Halm’s companions protested.

The observer appeared to stammer the beginning of some hypothesis, but he was drowned out by a set of tanks bursting out beside your group. They headed straight for the bridge, your tanks firing upon them, missing their first volleys.

You have a sudden realization. “You don’t have any weapons.” You point out simply. You weren’t issued any replicas to represent them in any case, but you had to press any point you had for a chance at victory.

Van Halm shrugged. “So I don’t.”

That son of a bitch.

The exercise observer struggled to contain his fury, but succeeded. You attempted to pursue the enemy to do what you originally intended to do with an ambush, but to no success. They simple moved too quickly, and with their actions combined with an attack from the rear, your defending armor stood no chance. Some small consolation was had with a single knockout, but the exercise ended in a loss for 2nd Company.

“Good try though, Tracht,” Van Halm placed a hand on your shoulder from behind. “You were far and away a better opponent than the rest of your pigshit company. Still not good enough, but hey, your sort can only do so well…”

“Your sort” being poorer nobility, your most valuable possession being your titles. You weren’t truly poor by any means, most people did not have a manor and a butler, but compared to most in the courts you were a pauper.

>Your victory was underhanded. I should be calling your effort not good enough.

>Thank him for his “compliment”

>Instigate a fight, and make a preemptive strike

>Ignore Van Halm

>Other (Input)

>>633237
>>Thank him for his “compliment”

But next time it'll be different.

No point antagonizing them further, whats done is done.

>>633237
>Thank him for his “compliment”

>>633237
>Thank him for his “compliment”

>>633237
>Your victory was underhanded. I should be calling your effort not good enough.

A thought: Van Halm's cheating maneuver was a counter specifically to our ambush. Were we really that predictable?

“…Thank you,” you don’t both looking over at Van Halm, fantasizing a bit about what possible insults you could beat him about with. He wasn’t worth it anyways, with any luck you wouldn’t see him again anyhow.

>>634347
>A thought: Van Halm's cheating maneuver was a counter specifically to our ambush. Were we really that predictable?

A thought crosses your mind.

“Wait,” you say as Van Halm turns, “How did you know we were there?”

Van Halm blinks. “Please, Tracht, I may be excellent but I’m not psychic. I had no idea at all that you had left your armor. In hindsight, it would have been cute if you had defeated our company the same way I dismantled yours, though.”

The concept of anybody destroying two and more tank platoons on foot was utterly ridiculous, and you stated as such.

“Ah, ridiculous for most, but not for our enterprising crewmen. I had my entire platoon’s crew replaced with Yaiger pathfinders.”

Van Halm didn’t need to say how unfair that was, and he didn’t. Yaigers were wildmen who lived in the deep forests between Naukland and Delsau, to the north of Strossvald, barely tamed just before the time of the first Kaiser of the Grossreich. Their pathfinders were unparalleled scouts and skirmishers; compared to fresh out of training crewmen and officer cadets they were practically panthers among rabbits. You bitterly theorize that Van Halm probably hadn't even come up with the idea of hunting tanks on foot.

You didn’t care to hear Van Halm brag anymore about the mechanics of his victory. You instead rejoined your crewmen, including your wayward radio operator Hans, collected from his position atop the hill when the exercise came to a close.

“Well, drat.” Stein sat on a large, flat stone by the river. “Almost had them. Better luck next time, I suppose.”
“Sure.” You say sullenly.
“So…” Stein rolled over his words, “Where are we going now, then?”

“Where are, we, going?” you ask.

“Yes, we,” Hans flipped a stone into the water, “You didn’t know? If you don’t have a retinue crew ready you get whoever joined up with you for this. You’re stuck with us wherever you’re going.”

You could certainly imagine worse crew, at least.

“Don’t say ‘stuck’ or anything like that,” Stein scolded, “and stop throwing rocks into the river! You shouldn’t provoke the river spirit.”

“The spirit of this shitty river can piss off,” Hans kicked a whole pile of pebbles into the offending geography, “You’re stuck with Stein’s superstitions too. Eat the wrong color of food and the Judge smites you according to him.”

Stein snorted. “Pardon him, commander. I’ve known him for a while, he’ll tire of this attitude eventually. Malachi…well, he never lets you onto anything.”

True to his words Malachi stood wordlessly, sometimes fixating on interesting things he saw through his tinted goggles, ragged breathing choking out spontaneously from beneath his gray kerchief. He would be disturbing if his lack of height didn’t rob him of any intimidating presence.

“In any case,” Sein continued, “you’re the nicest noble we’ve met, but we still barely know anything about you. We’ll be together for a while, hopefully, so we should learn about you! Come on, what do you like? What do you do? I’m interested, at least.”

>You took particular interest in studying…
>World History
>Sosalian History (Local countries and events specialization; Strossvald is in the area of the continent called Sosalia)
>War Theories
>Centerfolds
>Something else that might be plausible but not too "commoner"

>Your hobbies were (pick two)
>Horseback Riding
>Hunting
>Delinquency
>Fencing
>Hiking
>Wargames

>These aren't pointless traits, by the way. Your available options and knowledge will be affected by what Von Tracht knows and is well practiced at.
>Well, maybe studying centerfolds isn't incredibly educational.

>>634413
>You took particular interest in studying…
>Sosalian History

>Your hobbies were
>Hunting and hiking

>>634413
>War Theories
>Hunting
>Hiking

>>634413
>War Theories
>Wargames

>These aren't pointless traits, by the way. Your available options and knowledge will be affected by what Von Tracht knows and is well practiced at.

Can we learn military tactics like elastic defense and spearhead tactics at the academy or we need the hobbies for that?

>>634413
>Centerfolds

>Horseback Riding
>Fencing

>>634413
>War Theories
>Hunting
>Wargames

>>634413
>War Theories
>Hunting
>Wargames

>>634499
The study choice represents particular interest, for example you'd know what the academy teaches but also have knowledge of the newer tactics in use elsewhere. Strossvald is a bit behind the curve compared to the a few people.

To summarize, the studies pertain to knowledge and hobbies pertain to actual practiced activity.

I'll keep things open for a bit longer than go on. This'll be cumulative points or whatever so don't be afraid to go against the grain if you feel like it.

>>634413
>War Theories
>Hunting
>Wargames

>"I could appreciate a good centerfold or ten once in a while though"

>>634413
>>World History

>Horseback Riding
>Hunting

You weren’t about to give Stein and the others a complete biography, but you had time for brief introductions at least.

One of the most fascinating things to you was the new inventions and tactics of wars, and many had been developed very recently, primarily from the Grossreich of Czeiss and their recent wars. Most of your knowledge of history had to do with war’s effect upon it; other history, while not completely unknown to you, was certainly never the focus of your study.

The biggest change in warfare had come with the War of Emrean Liberation, a war that had happened over a score in the past, ending just a year before you were born. In this titanic war, the Reich lost one of its most vital territories, its northern lands inhabited by Emreans, unwilling subjects of Czeiss for nearly a century. Despite brutal fighting, the Reich was never able to break the lines of their enemies in a meaningful way; developments in artillery and machine guns had made the sweeping advances of the past impossible, and it was in this war that the first armored beasts, tanks, were invented by the Reich, to try and break the deadlock. Alas their invention was too little, too late, and without the breadbasket of the north the people of Czeiss starved along with its war machine.

More recently, five years ago, armored warfare underwent another demonstration between familiar foes. Shortly after the current Kaiser Henrik took power, a reformed Army of the Grossreich forcefully annexed the small northwestern country of Fealinn, utilizing combined arms tactics and armored advances like none had seen before. Observers barely arrived in time to see Emrean volunteers and Fealinn armsmen utterly crushed, their strength broken in the failed counterattack at the Battle of Rilineau’s Creek where their hastily assembled armored spearhead had its rear lines smashed by a pincer movement that would become a well-studied classic in modern warfare tactics.

You had studied long and hard enough to know the potential that the Reich had discovered, but even five years after armored warfare was proven to be the future of warfare, you found that distressingly few people knew of the proper techniques of armored battle. Most armored vehicles developed since had based their designs off of the famous KT-24, a nimble tank with lighter armament, but most nations grew lax with the recent peace, and no developments of armored and combined arms tactics were practiced in the wake of the reopening of the eastern sea, naval warfare taking the forefront of developments for most of the more powerful nations save the Reich.

The particulars of the oceans and other continents were not something you were well educated on. Bizarre meteorological phenomena known as the Grand Maelstroms made it so that traversing the seas to other continents was nigh impossible save for unpredictable calms in the storms of varying lengths; often for decades before a resuming of the terrifying storms of the seas resumed for just as long. The seas were so filled with turmoil during these times that only the most recent submarine ships could plausibly journey across during these times; not that it had been attempted.

Your crewmen’s interest in the wasted potentials and the risks of Strossvald’s dated doctrines quickly waned; you decided not to elaborate too much on how Strossvald’s army organization had changed little since its modernization immediately following the Emrean war.

So you instead went into your love of the hunt. Your not exactly boon companions were much more entertained by the varying methods of the hunt you were familiar with; you were well practiced in usage of rifles, shotguns, and even the more esoteric use of the boar spear against ravenous Maned Pigs. You carefully left out how your single successful hunting of a Maned Pig ended with the less sporting finale of shooting it six times with your sidearm after your spear had gotten tangled in the swine’s thick hairs.

You also practiced other outdoor activities, but by far your second favored activity was playing out the tactics you learned of in the chronicles of war. Even in the reenactments of ancient wars you found useful information that could be reflected in modern tactics.

“Oh, good, I was afraid you were turning out to be too interesting.” Hans snidely commented.

You plainly asked him what he liked to do, then.

“I hunt the greatest prey, of course.”

You guessed various creatures while Stein rolled his eyes and leaned back, sighing and muttering something. Wolves? Bears? Peak Panthers?

“No, no, no. Babes!” Hans grinned.

Oh.

“He has to hunt them because it’s the only way he can get close to them.” Stein waggled his finger.

“Piss off.”

To defuse the situation you prodded Stein about his likes. Hans almost made a jab about ghosts when the call to assemble was made, and you were forced to abandon your social activities; enlisted didn’t share the places of honor your class inhabited.

The post-exercise presentations were quick and hurried; the battle between 3rd and 4th company, unlike that between 1st and your own 2nd, apparently lacked anything of note compared to the goofy shenanigans that drew criticism from some of the senior speakers. Alas, even their stinging asides were limited by the hunger shared by all parties; any pontification was cut short in favor of a full scale assault upon the kitchens by a legion of officers and their masters.

You had been seated with a band of people in your company you had little connection with. So little, you didn’t even know their names; a fact that highly offended them, leaving you largely ignored at the table. You wished your company would have been your crewmen, or any enlisted really, who wouldn’t think introductions were something that impugned upon one’s prestige.

You were busy flicking a piece of gristle from the first course about a saucer when a cadet furtively handed you a note from behind. You opened it, reading its contents detailed in a neat, careful and curly script.

Von Tracht,
Meet me out in the woods behind the old library. Come alone.
-Rondo Von Metzeler

An ominously vague request. You knew that you had defeated Von Metzeler in this past exercise. It had been a fair engagement, however. What could he possibly want?

At the very least, he could be trusted to not have set some sort of mob ambush trap for you. Metzeler was well known to be true to his word; he was overly sensitive about it, really.

>Your meeting can be delayed. Indefinitely. You aren’t going out to meet this weirdo.
>Seek out some nobles as backup before you go
>Go to the enlisted and find your crew as backup
>Follow the letter precisely and go alone
>Other Action (Input)

>>636914
Go alone

>>636914
>Go to the enlisted and find your crew as backup, but leave them out of sight in the shouting range.

>>636914
>>Follow the letter precisely and go alone

We should make sure we bring a sidearm if we have one, though.

While some more feeble men would avoid this call, you were not such a person.

That wasn’t to say you had absolutely no sense of self preservation. You excuse yourself from the feast, and skulk back to your private quarters. They were modest by necessity, but were at least individual spaces, unlike the likes of the enlisted who barely got a bunk and a chest to themselves. In here was stored the right granted to any son of nobility; a loaded pistol. It wasn’t anything intimidating; merely a two barreled derringer, but it was in a caliber large enough for most threats. It could be easily hidden in your pocket, where it was quickly stashed.

Another step you took was to head to the enlisted’s barracks and seek out your crewmen. A bit of redundant insurance.

Most of the enlisted were, however, elsewhere. The only one of yours you could find was Malachi; your bizarre, masked driver. At the very least he didn’t ask any questions, and when told what he was to do asked no questions. Only a silent stare as you told him to listen for if you needed help.

You weren’t sure if his lack of response was a sign of understanding or of complete apathy, but you hoped it was the former as you left him and went into the woods.

It wasn’t long before you encountered a clearing in the woods, dotted with fairies’ circles and nearly as bright as day under a glowing moon. In the center stood a figure you recognized as Von Metzeler.

“Von Tracht.” He greeted you. He held a pair of sheathed swords, long sabers that were symbols of an officer’s authority. “I did not expect you to come. Do you know why I called you here?”

“No.” you replied, “It can’t have been over the exercise. You weren’t the only person who got knocked out.”

“I wasn’t. That did not shield me from mockery, however.” His features were outlined in the starlight, his expression a stone wall that betrayed no emotions, “I was already burdened with the idiot’s work of being a mere distraction, far from conflict. A duty that ill fitted me yet one I did anyways. Then you came from behind, and destroyed me. Could you possibly understand the depths of my shame? The justification you gave my comrades to hate me, for which they had hungered for so long?”

Metzeler tossed one of his blades to you, where it clattered upon the ground. “I am better than you, Tracht. I will prove that. I challenge you to a duel.” He drew his own sword, “I do not intend for this to be a battle to the death, mind you, but these blades are real, their edges cut. The first blood shall be the victor.”

He pointed his blade at you, and the moon shimmered off of it. “Draw steel, Tracht.”

>Accept his challenge
>This is crazy. I won’t fight you.
>Fine, I yield, then. This isn’t worth fighting over.
>This doesn’t prove anything and you know it. I won’t hurt you for the sake of your ego.
>Other (Input)


>You only know basic fencing technique. You don’t know how good Metzeler is, but if he had the idea to use swords he’s probably well practiced. Fighting him wouldn’t be a matter you expect to win.

>>637508
>You know, I'm not exactly a person defeating whom in a duel would raise your standing. They'll just make fun of you.

>>637524
Also have this saber duel even though I voted against fighting
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5w2Mh6CyXo

>>637508
>>This doesn’t prove anything and you know it. I won’t hurt you for the sake of your ego.

And

>You know, I'm not exactly a person defeating whom in a duel would raise your standing. They'll just make fun of you.

>>637508
>>637857
Yes, this works for me as well.

>>637508
>You know, I'm not exactly a person defeating whom in a duel would raise your standing. They'll just make fun of you.

Don't say "I won't hurt you", cause it implies we could hurt him, which is what he's out to disprove.

You glance down at the blade at your feet. It is no mere toy or typical sword, you discover when you see it closer up. It has much better décor than a typical mass produced officer’s sabre, and it appears that there is a name engraved into it.

You look back up at Von Metzeler. “You know, I’m not exactly a person defeating whom in a duel would raise your standing. They’ll just make fun of you.”

“Don’t think that I am doing this for their sake,” Metzeler snapped, “It is my pride at stake here, and yours. You and I are the only ones to whom this duel matters.”

Metzeler wanted to fight you far too much for that deflection. You tried another approach.

“So what about your pride? This doesn’t prove anything and you know it.” You protest, carefully edging around the sword on the ground.

Metzeler’s grip weakened. “Why do you insist on avoiding my challenge? Is my blood not worthy to be struck from me?” He tightened his stance once more. “If you are mocking me, I will not stand and merely listen in the face of such taunts!”

He seemed to be spinning fairy tales in his head with your words.

“You are not your ancestors any more than the presumptuous snakes I am surrounded by are! Your lineage matters not here, where the only spectator is the Judge of Heaven.”

…Was this really what this was about?

“I’m not fighting you.” You say flatly, “My lineage never did any favors for me here.” You turn to leave.

“But…” Metzeler stammered, “You can’t! You…wait, if you’re going to leave, do not leave my father’s sword laying in the dirt, at least.”

>Pick the sword up and give it back
>Pick it up and say you’ll give it back later
>Leave the sword; he’s the one who tossed it there
>As always, any other option can be input.

>>638826
>Leave the sword; he’s the one who tossed it there

>>638826
>pick the sword up by the blade and hand it back to him

>>638826
>>Pick it up and say you’ll give it back later

>>638826
>pick the sword up by the blade and lean it to a tree

inb4 it's a trick to start the duel

>>638826
>Leave the sword; he’s the one who tossed it there
>taunt

>"Also Metzeler, you know that the chalengee is traditionally allowed to choose the weapon of the duel, right? It's a good thing you didn't give me the choice; I would've been tempted to agree to a tank duel so I could kick your ass again."

>>641960
Can I vote against this? Cause if we do this we'll probably have to kill Metzeler.

>>641970

>not wanting to kill Metzeler

>>642016
We're not ready to become a murderhobo anon. Murderhobos don't get to command tanks, and that just won't do.

>>642019

Where's your warrior spirit? All great generals murdered their colleagues in officer's training, probably.

>>642049
If it helps you, we can expect a war soon and Metzeler will probably be on the other side of the barricades.

>>642064

>metagaming

>>642102
>Supplying a counteroptimal write-in

>>642108

>playing quests

>>642157
>Visiting 4chan

>>642169

>being alive

>>642174

>Being

>>641970
Could you clarify what part you are voting against, all of it or part of it? I'm about ready to start again for the day.

>>642201
Against taunting.

“You’re the one who threw it there,” you retort, “You pick it up. I’m tired of posturing for the sake of your pride.” You turn and leave. You knew enough about Rondo Von Metzeler’s sort that he wouldn’t be like to attack you from behind, but you kept a hand on your concealed pistol all the same.

You walked by Malachi and beckoned him over with a wave.

“Who is that?” You hear Metzeler demand. He seemed to have followed you out.

“I don’t know,” you say, a jest with truth in it.

You notice Malachi glance towards the swords Metzeler held, then at the lord carrying them.

“What are you looking at?” Metzeler said threateningly to your driver.

What came out of Malachi’s mouth was the most horrendous butchering of New Nauk you had ever heard. “Yeuuheffpreb trabbul Ifeyteet keykyoress.”
Metzeler’s expression changed instantly from smoldering fury to complete and utter bafflement. Malachi thrust a pointed finger towards him. “Geef beshop.”

Metzeler’s confusion turned to some look of understanding. “How fortunate, Tracht, it seems you have a stand in. He’s even short enough that his physique reflects your honor.”

“Hey, wait-“ you try to stop your driver but he pushed you away with a hand.

“Heepyeussi.” He drawls.

Metzeler confidently hands out a blade, but Malachi ignored it, pressing past it and driving a gloved fist into Metzeler’s chin. Metzeler’s hands release his swords in surprise, and he stumbles back.

“How dare y-“ He began to roar before Malachi took another step forward and drove his foot into Metzeler’s gut. As the brash noble buckled forward, eyes still mad with rage, Malachi punched him in the face once more, before placing a savage kick into his shin. Metzeler dropped to the ground, making impotent squealing noises.

Malachi pulls down his kerchief and spits a slimy, mucus laden wad of spit onto Metzeler. “Pyeussi.” Malachi, wherever he came from, must not have understood class differences in this nation's military.

>So I take it I win, then.

>Admonish your driver

>Apologize and Help Metzeler Up

>Things turned out better than expected. Just leave.

>Other

>>642411
>Things turned out better than expected. Just leave.

>>642411

We should go.

Sorry this one took a while.

You take this sudden thug behavior of your crewmate as the blessing it is and make a hasty escape.

Thankfully, you don’t see Metzeler again, nor anybody else; most are packed hastily onto waiting trains to go immediately where they have been preordained to go, along with their retinues.

You and your “retinue,” the official name for a band of spare soldiers that were lumped onto you for lack of man at arms of your own, were made to take a separate train to your destination of Blumsburgh, the capital of the Blumlands, ruled by the Von Blums.

Their claim to fame was not their exceptional prowess at creative names.

Rather, they had been one of the first duchies to revolt against the Grossreich during the founding conflicts of Strossvald. The Blumlands included the Imperial Gate; mountainous terrain separated much of Strossvald from the Reich, with the Imperial Gate being one of the few passes that could admit an army. Understandably, this area was incredible heavily fortified.

Besides the strategic importance of the local geography, the main industry of the Von Blums had been agricultural, recently supplanted by heavy industry and manufacturing, the river Ilex feeding both since the time of Blumsburgh’s founding.

You expected a comfortable stay, all things considered. The only news recently had been a bandit problem; something tankers didn’t really deal with, and if they did, usually outclassed their opposition by an absurd degree.

What you were more anxious of was meeting your betrothed. You understood the realities of courtly relationships but the only thing you really knew about the girl you were to marry from the Blum family was her name, something that really didn’t tell you anything about her. It had been an easy thing to agree to; the financial security of the much larger family in exchange for some military service and the obligation of a few more blue blooded spawn, but now that it was about to go through you felt you had to think about it a lot more.

1/3

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Normally, armor would be transported by huge armored trains, moving battalions at a time. You hadn’t been the only one heading for the Blumlands, but you were the only one who had to be bumped to a smaller train. You felt some strange attachment to the small tank being driven onto a flatbed car, not for any reason you understood. Like the crews, the tanks were interchangeable until graduation. Maintaining them, after all, was not the work of a noble tank commander, but for the enlisted. The mud and grime of the river that used to be on it had been sprayed clean, and the armor had been freshly repainted with the grey-blue of Strossvald’s armored corps.

The tank was a Pz m/28, a light tank design from the northern country of Naukland, produced under license by Strossvald manufacturing. It was a four year old design, still useful, but Naukland jealously hoarded its best designs and modifications to itself. For example, the m/28’s turret was quite roomy by nature of its tiny 2.5cm anti-tank cannon, the peak of tank hunting ballistics nine years ago. In your studies on armor, you had read that Naukland still fielded the m/28, but in its m/28-31 version, which used a larger cannon and a more powerful engine. What truly captured your heart, though, was the m/32; Naukland’s newest tank, recently approved for export. Strossvald had scant few of them, but they made the m/28 look like a mere farm tractor by comparison. They used 5cm cannons, double the size of Strossvald’s standard munitions, but the export variation used 3.7cm cannons. A pity, but still a massive improvement over the current all things considered.

You had also found out that Blumsburgh was to be one of the manufacturing places for m/32 parts. Little war equipment assembly was done outside of the capital regions; most industry supplied pieces which would be shipped to the Archduke’s direct subjects, who would complete the equipment and send it back out. In a nation of leery eyed nobility all seeking the top, it was risky to allow nobility to equip their retinues at their own whim. Thus the Archduke was always aware of how many soldiers each lord had under their command, and thus also how many should be donated to the greater national army.

2/3

The train ride took around a day and a half. Blumsburgh was situated at the very western edge of Strossvald, right on the border with the Grossreich of Czeiss. Malachi’s turning of Metzeler into a pile of gilded wreckage was never brought up, and the action did not seem to affect him in the slightest, as he stared out the window while Stein and Hans bickered about various subjects.

You had just gotten used to the cozy environment when you saw Blumsburgh appear in the river valley, backed by a row of worn, ancient mountains; towering, but with sloping edges; not sharp edged, relatively young mountains like to the north. Blumsburgh was an old city, replete with pre-Imperial architecture, with expansions to the city clearly visible as each outward layer had a different style, like the rings of a venerable tree. As you descended into the shallow valley, the train went into a sparse forest, full of young sprouts and thin, weedy trees, a forest undergoing rebirth.

3/4 (ayy)

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As soon as the train slowly enters the forest, you hear the train’s brakes screech. This cacophony is followed a few seconds later by a deafening blast, and the train rises like God had kicked it straight up. With a sickening lurch, your train car leans over, but does not fall over, collapsing unevenly back onto the tracks and grinding hideously to a halt. Furious shouting comes from outside, along with the report of a few firearms, barely audible over the ringing your ears are assaulted with after the explosion.

These are the most well-armed bandits you have ever encountered, suffice it to say. This train, unarmored and lightly guarded, with a fantastic armored prize on its back, must have been a jackpot to them.

Most would be terrified, but nobility of Strossvald were not allowed to be terrified on the battlefield, and were trained as such. Your mind was clear as you analyzed the tactical situation.

In front of your car was your crew members’ car. Behind was the flatbed with the tank. Behind the tank was a cargo container; a particularly explosive car full of the tank’s fuel and ammunition, and the single part of the train that was well armored besides your tank. Behind that was the caboose, laden with spare supplies, and more importantly, the train’s security detail as well as their armory.

You aren’t sure of where your attackers are (although it sounds like there are about half a dozen of them), nor the condition of the cars that aren’t immediately near you. The car ahead of you has turned over. As excellent as it would be to simply climb into the tank, it is not only secured for transport, but has no fuel or ammunition stowed inside, and thus is little more use than a bunker.

You rip open the drawers in your quarters and retrieve your derringer. It can carry two shots at once, and you have ten shots with you. Your officer’s sword is also nearby, although it is a ceremonial piece it is still made to work as a weapon.

>Shit’s fucked as they say.

>Plan out actions. Alternatively, go off of other guideline options.

>Secure your crew, then head for the caboose

>Head for the caboose first and foremost

>Lay low and hide

>Grab everybody and book it

>>643903
>>Secure your crew, then head for the caboose
It could make some noise or even take some precious time, but if we going to fight back we need number.

>>643903
>rush for the tank and send a man to the caboose

>>643903
Secure Tonk and send someone to rally crew. If situation permits attempt to arm tank or head to the armory and assist the security detail

>>643903
>All these anons wanting us to lug fuel and shells under fire. And send someone when there's no someone around.

>Secure your crew, then head for the caboose
Give our sword to someone to spread the armament around. Look for machinegun ammunition on the way throught the cargo car. If found, attempt to load the tank's pintle-mounted machinegun.

>>643903

>Secure your crew, then head for the caboose

>>644982
Supporting

Does our tank even have a pintle mounted gun?

>>643903
when we pass by the tank car have one man climb into the tank and batten the hatches so no bandit can enter

Also is the track on an incline at all? Could we unhook the cars from the tank back and coast out of the kill box?