Molly's - Chapter 10 [Tankiverse Fanfic]

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

Molly’s - Chapter 10
Fanfic in the Tankiverse by Hippin_in_Hawaii

I’m not a big fan of history in general; there’s just so much of it, and it all can be summed up by saying “dead people did something, and here we are today.” But the specific histories of things I like, well, that’s a different story. It’s probably no surprise to you that someone who loves tanks as much as I do is an avid buff on the history of the tank, and of the wars in which tanks were important, and on the history of Tanki itself.

As I became part of Molly’s, it was inevitable that I’d start to wonder at the histories of the tanks sitting in the yard. Under Twee’s intermittent guidance, I became more skilled at piecing together stories from their remains, but that sort of investigation left too much to my imagination. The rusted hulk with the ruptured floorplate had clearly met its demise by rolling over a mine, but where? When? Why? I was still haunted by that refrain I’d imagined when I first walked in: “Now, I am junk, and I am Molly’s.”

Most of the more recent hulks were easy enough to backtrack. If I looked hard enough, and scraped rust off in the right places, I could find serial numbers. The Tanki archives keep exhaustive records; anything in the last 20 years is available. So, with a serial number, I can look up that tank’s competitive history, even watch footage of its fights. That’s if it fought in Tanki, and during the last 20 years. Many of the tanks at Molly’s fit those criteria. Many, but not all.

This became a bit of an obsession with me. After my first encounter with Twee, I wanted to up my game. I’d pick a hulk, and either ride out to Molly’s a little early, stay a little late, or spend my lunch break crawling over it, looking for signs. I could usually manage to get two, sometimes three hours in every weekend. Once I thought I had a fair assessment, I’d look up the archival footage and see how well I had done. Then, knowing what had actually happened, I’d go back to the hulk and look for the evidence that I had clearly missed.

One day, I found a tank I knew. I didn’t realize it at first, of course; it was just another hulk, and a big one. It had been pounded hard on both the right side and the front by a rapid fire cannon, probably Twins. There were dozens of overlapping impact craters in the armor. Individually, each was insignificant, but with so many of them, the armor was pretty beat up. I imagined that this tank had been caught broadside by its opponent. The pilot had reversed and turned, bringing the front armor and main canon to bear. And probably had survived, driving off or killing the attacker.

But there was also a gaping hole on the right side, clearly a kill shot, and clearly delivered by a different gun. So this tank had been part of a team event and facing more than one opponent. Sometime after, or even during, its confrontation with the Twins, another enemy had broadsided it with something large. Hard to say what, but it was a blast hole, not a puncture, so I was leaning towards high-end Smoky.

When I went home to look up the serial number that night, I realized I had watched this battle. My tank had been defending its base in a Capture-The-Flag event and had actually found itself facing three enemies. The Twins were mounted on a light tank that served to get its attention. As the defender turned to engage, two other tanks emerged from cover; to the left was a medium with a Vulcan, and far away to the right was a heavy with a Magnum.

The pilot had made a mistake in turning to face the Twins, but was committed. He ignored the others and concentrated on finishing at least one enemy, but had to know that he was finished. Even his Mammoth would be no match for that incoming artillery after the pounding he had already taken.

I remember watching the match with my parents when I was young, maybe five or six years old, remember how I’d felt the urge to cry while watching the brave tank stand its ground against three aggressors. I felt that way again. If he’d only known the Magnum was out there, had only been facing the correct direction, he could have held his ground. As it was, the enemies took his flag and won the game.

Next weekend at Molly’s, I looked the remains over again. How had I missed the damage on the left side from the Gatling gun? The answer was that it was subtle, tiny little dents in the armor that were hidden by years of rust. I’d have needed to de-scale that side to have noticed.

It was a while before I encountered Twee again, but when I did, the only thing I wanted to talk about was that tank.

“The rusty patch should have given you a clue,” he said. “The parts of the tank that weren’t all shot up still had a healthy coating of paint. Next time, look for inconsistencies.”

Well, duh, when he said it like that, it was pretty obvious. I smiled and gave him a hug. It was nice, actually, hugging somebody my own size! “Thank you,” I whispered.

“You’re coming along nicely, Tadpole,” he replied.

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.

[kaisdf 3,320]

Article approved.

 

Nice piece; a snazzy new addition to the series :D

 

Added one comma after "something" in the first line. Other than that, perfect.

[Drazox 665]

Nice story! Good Luck

[DRAKO523 795]

As always, a lovely read.

[TankiNoob2000 231]

Don't stop making these:)

[Person_Random 4,991]

Teach me!

[P.4.R.K.O.U.R 329]

Wow!