Deer Hunting [Tankiverse fanfic]

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

Deer Hunting
Fanfic in the Tankiverse by Hippin_in_Hawaii

 
Team Greenway had taken over an outlying pavilion in what had been the parking lot for Ostacor’s football stadium. It gave them cover from the dew as they lay on their sleeping bags in the dark. The vehicles were lined up in a tidy column nearby as the soldiers discussed and debated which departing convoy to try and guard next.
 
“That’s two lost under our watch,” said Fred, talking as much to himself as to the team. “One literally from under our noses; the other while we were busily guarding the wrong one. This is not working.”
 
“We need numbers,” said Georgina. “The captain needs to send a batallion down here, maybe get us some air cover.”
 
“That’s what the Mongs are hoping for,” said Al. “The more resources we devote to finding this marauder, the less resources we have flowing to the borders of the liberated zone.” He pondered a moment. “Fewer resources?”
 
“How sure are we that there’s only one?” asked Phil.
 
“Only one resource? That makes no sense,” complained Al.
 
“No, only one marauder,” snarked Phil.
 
“Pretty sure,” said Chip. “Look at the pattern of attacks. The intervals and the distance between them. If there were multiple hostiles, they could engage a lot more targets, and provoke the hoped-for response more quickly.”
 
“And we’re sure it’s a tank? Not a soldier with an RPG, or an insurgent with explosives and a trigger?”
 
“Nah,” said Chip. “The I.E.D. idea doesn’t hold water; no one could be that lucky with placing a booby trap to successfully and completely demolish five vehicles with one hundred percent precision. And a soldier with an RPG would have been spotted. If not the soldier, then the rocket trail leading in.” Chip paused to take a drag from his cigarette. “No one has seen or heard anything. So it’s not artillery; that would be heard incoming. It’s not a common tank weapon, the report would be heard before the shell reached the target. Whatever it is, it moves faster than the speed of sound, and doesn’t produce a smoke trail. Gun like that, it’s attached to a heavy machine.”
 
“But the muzzle flash would be huge!” said Nienna. “You’d see it for miles!”
 
“That’s why they fire from out of the sun,” Chip replied. “Sneaky buggers, very clever. Gotta admire them ****ing Mongs.”
 
“Even if we pick the right convoy,” Fred mused, “we probably won’t stop them from taking their shot. We didn’t last time. And if we go charging blindly into the sun, they’ll certainly have time to gut at least one of our tanks, if not all three, before we find something to shoot at. I am not seeing a way to handle this without help.”
 
“Ever go deer hunting?” came a voice from the dark, one of Georgie’s Dozen. “Ever use a tree stand, or hunt from a blind?”
 
“No, said Fred, searching the darkness for the speaker then giving up. “No, can’t say as I’ve done that.”
 
“It’s easy enough,” came the voice. “If you know where the deer are gonna be, and when they’re gonna be there, you just have to sit and wait. Find a game trail, and find a spot to watch it from. Not too close, and be careful about the wind. Deer mostly move in the early early morning and the late late evening.”
 
Fred chewed this over in his head. “We know they’re getting intelligence.”
 
“Yep,” drawled the voice. “They know where we’re gonna be, and when.” The inflection of the voice made it clear that the speaker felt he knew something obvious, something everyone else was missing.
 
“Frank, spit it out!” snapped Georgina.
 
“Well, now, suppose I wanted to attack...unh…” there was a grunt as Frank shifted his position to look towards the field. “Yeah, convoy three four one, departs at sixteen hundred tomorrow, heading to Millhaven. Sunset tomorrow is, what, about nineteen thirty? Figure they make an average of seventy kph on a nice road like that. I can tell you what stretch of road they’ll be in come sunset, give or take half an hour. You give me a map, I can tell you where I’d hide to take that shot.”
 
“So we set up to ambush the ambusher. I like it. Now, we just have to figure out which convoy.”
 
“Seems to me,” replied Frank’s disembodied drawl, “that you got a coupla choices. You can map out all the likely spots for the next few days and take your chances, or you can change the departure schedules to limit their selection.”
 
Fred pondered. “Those schedules are made weeks in advance. If we start changing things, it will be a clear warning signal to the marauder that we’re on to him.”
 
“Hell, sir, ain’t but two days’ schedule up on the boards. Could be that’s all he knows.”
 
Fred stood up and walked over the edge of the pavilion, looking over the rally point. The former football field, and the surrounding parking, had been marked off in a grid, with different assembly areas. On either side of the former field of play, spectator bleachers still stood. And behind those, towering against the night sky, stood two electronic scoreboards, now repurposed to display information about upcoming convoy departures.
 
“Designation: 341. Assembly area: ECHO. Destination: MILLHAVEN. Departure 16:00” was currently displayed in electronic letters across the top of the screen. Below it was a list of upcoming convoys, in order of departure.
 
“Has it occurred to you…” started Al, unexpectedly behind Fred’s shoulder.
 
Fred jumped. “Jesus Christ, Al, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
 
“Has it occurred to you,” repeated Al, “that those are mighty nice scoreboards for a community football field?”
 
Fred looked at Al, then back at the scoreboards. “Those are pretty nice, aren’t they? And anyone here could be taking pictures of them, sending texts to the Mongs.”
 
“Those are really nice scoreboards,” said Al insistently. “They had to cost tens, if not hundreds, of thousands.”
 
Fred felt a little lost. It seemed to be his theme for the night. “So, what, wealthy donor?”
 
“Really nice. And new. As good as what you’d see in a professional stadium. Bright. Crisp. High-definition. And probably fully integrated into the local network.”
 
Fred’s jaw dropped. “No…” He reached for his phone, opened a search engine, and typed “Ostacor football field”. Seconds later, there it was, a page dedicated to the field, completely mobile-friendly. It obviously hadn’t been updated since the liberation; the schedule of games and events was still posted. Apparently Ostacor’s youth league was supposed to be playing Millhaven right now. There was a banner thanking Mr. Edmund Wraghten for his generous donation of the new scoreboards in loving memory of his wife. And there, at the bottom of the page, a link to webcams.
 
Fred clicked the link. Three choices presented themselves: midfield east, midfield west, and scoreboard.


 

Mahalo (thank you) for reading; I hope you enjoyed! This story is part of a series. Information on the series, and links to the other stories, can be found here.

[tweezers 1,034]

Approved.

 

Nice! I'm really enjoying the plot development here :D

[GrandExecutioner 1,403]

The best thing about your stories is how they link together.

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

The best thing about your stories is how they link together.

Thanks! I'm trying hard to work those links in!

[shafter9 156]

Did you originally write "A Helluva Thing" to be part of this series? Or did you decide to integrate it later? It doesn't reference Tanks in it.

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

Did you originally write "A Helluva Thing" to be part of this series? Or did you decide to integrate it later? It doesn't reference Tanks in it.

 

This all started with A Helluva Thing. When I wrote that, then Graduation Speech, then Stuck, I was just spinning individual stories. But Tweezers made a comment that he would be disappointed if it didn't become a series, and I started to look for ways to weave the threads together.  Chutzpah was actually the first story written after I decided to make a cohesive narrative, but I've gone back and made use of details I placed in the earlier stories to develop the universe and the plot arcs. Chip's tiny notebook is there, but the reference to the smashed bottle of whisky in his tank actually spawned the idea for The Whisky Occupation. And that story is integral to the whole Coup series, not to mention the relationship between Georgie and Fred.

 

So, yes, I retconned my first three stories here into the larger picture. But I'm curious why you think  A Helluva Thing doesn't reference tanks.

His tank was dead. His crew was dead. His unit was dead. The enemy was dead. Everything on

the battlefield was dead; everything except Chip. And that would change soon.

 

Chip was dying. He had no illusions about that. He wasn’t particularly distressed by the

knowledge; he’d always expected to die in his tank, with his tank, a meaningless tick in the

ledgers of this meaningless war.

 

Edited February 26, 2018 by Hippin_in_Hawaii

[LOLKILLERTOTHEDEATH 1,921]

Teach me how to write stories! please!