The imposing gates of the United Federation Tankery Academy (UFTA) opened with a deep metallic groan, revealing the sprawling campus nestled amidst the snow-dusted streets of Saint Petersburg. Anthony and Tyrone stepped out of the armored transport that had carried them from the airport, their breath visible in the icy air. Both wore their Woodland BDU uniforms, the dark green blending against the snowy Russian backdrop.

UFTA's massive stone buildings loomed ahead, their architectural grandeur a testament to Russia's military tradition. Despite the cold, the atmosphere was warm with respect rather than rivalry. Unlike the tension-filled visit from Red Banner, this meeting felt different—both sides had something to prove but not at the expense of camaraderie.

Miya Oktyabrskaya and Anastasia Volkov waited at the steps of the main building, flanked by several officers from UFTA. The Russian commanders stood tall and composed, their dark green uniforms crisp against the white backdrop. Miya's piercing blue eyes met Anthony's as he approached, and Anastasia's faint smirk flickered as she noticed Tyrone's usual laid-back stride.

"Commander Grant," Miya said, extending a hand as Anthony reached the steps. Her voice was calm, steady, and free of any condescension. "Welcome to the United Federation Tankery Academy. It's an honor to finally meet you."

Anthony shook her hand, his grip firm but respectful. "Commander Oktyabrskaya, thank you for having us. The honor's ours."

Tyrone, meanwhile, gave Anastasia an exaggerated nod and a grin. "Vice-Commander Volkov, I like the setup you've got here. Feels like a Bond villain's lair but, y'know, classy."

Anastasia's smirk widened as she shook his hand. "Vice-Commander Williams, I wasn't expecting you to be so... casual."

"Casual's my middle name," Tyrone quipped, adjusting the sleeves of his uniform. "But don't worry—I get the job done."

Anastasia tilted her head slightly, clearly intrigued. "We'll see about that."

Miya motioned toward the entrance. "Please, come inside. The weather isn't kind this time of year."

Anthony and Tyrone followed the Russian commanders into the main hall, their boots clicking against the polished marble floors. The grand interior was adorned with historical artifacts, portraits of legendary Russian commanders, and banners celebrating UFTA's victories in international Tankery competitions.

The group entered a spacious conference room dominated by a long wooden table, its surface gleaming under the soft light of the chandeliers. A large map of the world covered one wall, marked with pins representing key Tankery schools and matches.

Anthony and Tyrone took their seats across from Miya and Anastasia, while officers from both sides settled into their positions around the table. Unlike the formal, stiff atmosphere of the meeting with Red Banner, this gathering felt less about politics and more about mutual understanding.

Miya opened the discussion, her tone direct but respectful. "Let me start by saying that UFTA respects the capabilities of Liberty Prime University Academy. Your victory against Red Banner was no small feat, and it has not gone unnoticed."

Anthony nodded, his posture relaxed but attentive. "Your recent win against Brazil's Tankery Academy was equally impressive. We've studied the footage—your strategies were surgical."

Miya's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "Surgical, perhaps, but we both know that no match is perfect. There's always room to improve."

Tyrone leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Ain't that the truth. But I gotta admit, your crew's discipline is next level. Almost like robots out there."

Anastasia raised an eyebrow. "Robots? I suppose you could say that. But discipline and precision are the cornerstones of our approach."

Tyrone grinned. "Yeah, but don't underestimate a little chaos. Sometimes you gotta throw the playbook out the window to keep things interesting."

Anastasia's smirk returned. "You sound like a man who enjoys taking risks."

"Only the smart ones," Tyrone replied with a wink.

As the meeting progressed, the conversation shifted to more technical matters. Both sides exchanged ideas, discussing tactics, tank modifications, and training methodologies. The mutual respect between the commanders became increasingly evident.

Anthony shared details about L.P.U.A.'s use of modern tactics, blending traditional Tankery maneuvers with innovative strategies inspired by modern warfare. Miya listened intently, occasionally asking pointed questions about their approach.

"Your use of lighter vehicles like the Stryker and LAV-AG is unconventional," Miya observed. "Most schools rely heavily on heavy tanks for their firepower and durability. What made you choose this path?"

Anthony leaned forward slightly. "Speed and adaptability. Heavy tanks are important, but lighter vehicles can exploit weaknesses, outmaneuver larger opponents, and hit where it hurts most. It's about balancing offense and defense."

Miya nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting. We've relied heavily on our T-series tanks for their firepower and resilience, but perhaps it's time we reconsider our approach."

Anastasia crossed her arms, her expression skeptical but curious. "And what about your Abrams with the 130mm gun turret? That's not exactly standard issue."

Tyrone chuckled. "Let's just say we've got friends in high places. But yeah, that beast packs a punch."

Miya's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of intrigue in her gaze. "I'd like to see it in action someday."

Anthony's lips curled into a faint smile. "Maybe you will."

As the formal discussion wound down, Miya and Anthony found themselves standing near the large map on the wall, their respective teams engaged in quieter conversations.

"You don't strike me as the type to flaunt a victory," Miya said, glancing at Anthony.

"I'm not," Anthony replied. "Tankery's about more than winning. It's about respect—for your team, your opponents, and the sport itself."

Miya nodded slowly. "I used to think that way. Before... Pravda."

Anthony didn't press her for details, but his expression softened slightly. "I've read about what happened. You and your crew went through hell, and you came out stronger for it."

Miya's jaw tightened, but she met his gaze. "We did. But it changes you. Makes you see things differently."

Anthony nodded. "I get that. Responsibility changes you. But it also gives you the chance to make things better—for yourself and the people who trust you."

Miya studied him for a moment before nodding. "Perhaps you're right."

As the meeting concluded, Miya and Anastasia escorted Anthony and Tyrone back to their transport. The snow had begun to fall again, blanketing the campus in a soft white layer.

"This has been enlightening," Miya said as they reached the vehicle. "I appreciate your openness, Commander Grant."

"Likewise," Anthony replied, extending a hand. "I look forward to seeing what UFTA brings to the table in the future."

Miya shook his hand firmly, her grip strong. "You won't be disappointed."

Anastasia smirked at Tyrone. "Next time, Vice-Commander, perhaps you'll show us what that 'chaos' of yours looks like in action."

Tyrone grinned, hopping into the vehicle. "Oh, you'll see. And trust me, it's worth the wait."

As the transport pulled away, Anthony glanced back at the towering gates of UFTA. The meeting had been productive, but he knew this was just the beginning. The next time they met, it wouldn't be in a conference room—it would be on the battlefield. And neither side would hold anything back.