Dust Devils - A Girls Und Panzer Story

Mojave Rose v. Dunant Preparatory

Sunday September 29th, 2013

Uyuni, Bolivia

The past three days should have been like a fun road trip. A bus ride from the port of Iquique in Chile to the Uyuni Salt Flats in Bolivia with a whole host of fun stops in between. But fun was a feeling that was hard to find, much less to enjoy, as in the two buses that shuttled the Mojave Rose team had a member whose absence was profoundly felt.

When the team first learned that Valarie got sick and had to remain home to recover, the news was nothing less than shocking. Some believed that it was some attempt at a joke by Gabrielle, but the look of Emma's distraught face dispelled all notions of doubt. The Mojave Rose tankery team would be without their captain for this match. It was now up to the vice-captain to man the helm and contend with the coming storm.

Ray had been busy the moment Emma handed him Valarie's playbook. For the past few days, he dedicated himself to studying the team's strategy. Ray was already quite familiar with the plan. He was the vice-captain, after all, and did give his input which he noticed was implemented. But, with Valarie's absence, he felt this need deep within him to execute it flawlessly. It wasn't enough for him to be merely familiar with the plan, but to also intimately know each and every aspect that composed it.

It was a little past five in the morning, and Ray and his crew were in their shared hotel room in the city of Uyuni. Ray was awake, sitting at a desk at a corner of the room, reviewing the strategy one more time before the day got too busy. As it was not yet dawn, the room was still dark though not wanting to disturb his still-sleeping friends, he opted to use his phone as a flashlight. His eyes darted left to right and vice versa as he went over the plan. He made no changes as not only was it far too late to make any, they weren't necessary. Valarie's strategies had always been reliable and not overly complex. They were relatively easy to learn and execute, and more importantly, resilient to sudden events on the battlefield.

Ray paid particular attention to the islands that dotted the immense salt flats as they served as the foundations of the team's game plan. So important were they that during a previous commander's meeting, they were given names. All of which centered on the theme of speedy vehicles that broke land speed records. Bluebird. Sunbeam. Mystery. Such names and a handful of others were chosen, and it was a good bit of fun. Aurora was the commander who suggested it and was half-surprised that Valarie ran with it. She took it as a sign that she and the rest of the defunct Manhattan Project were officially out of hot water, though not entirely away from the shore.

A rumble in his stomach stole his attention away from a moment before he refocused. Yet another, more potent sensation finally convinced him to set down the playbook and switch off the light on his phone. He turned in the old chair, taking great care not to make too much squeaking, to check on his crew. They were still soundly asleep on their makeshift beds on the floor. Ray gently rose from the desk and crept to a nearby window to peer out to the broader world. The city of Uyuni reminded him of the past few times he and his mother visited Mexico to see extended family. The architecture of the Bolivian city flooded his mind with pleasant memories that caused a soft smile to form. Uyuni was no Mexico City, but it certainly had that vibe that Ray couldn't get enough of. What also he couldn't get enough of was something he spotted down on the street corner below—a woman behind a food stall preparing meals.

He slipped on a jacket to brave the early morning cold and descended down to the streets of Uyuni. By the time he was outside, a small line had begun to form in front of the food vendor, which gave him some time to scoop out what she had to offer. A savory scent in the air told him some kind of meat was being cooked, and as he got closer, the sound of something sizzling delightfully confirmed it. Soon, another sound blessed his ears, the smile-inducing sound of something being fried. This was his type of stall. As his turn approached, Ray learned what the stall was selling and instantly did his mouth water. It was a Bolivian dish called pique macho; French fries served as a base where it was then topped with chopped beef, hot dogs, onion, bell peppers, and sliced hard-boiled eggs as a garnish.