The icy winds swept across the frozen training grounds of Häyhä Academy, nestled deep within the Finnish wilderness. The academy's signature blend of brutal training and relentless discipline was in full display as their tanks maneuvered across the harsh terrain. Snow flew in chaotic flurries as WWII-era tanks clashed in a ferocious practice match that could rival the intensity of an actual competition.

The Törni sisters—Lumi, Aada, and Aino—stood at the edge of the field, observing the chaos with grim expressions. Their burn-scarred faces and missing eyes were stark reminders of the betrayal that had shaped not only their lives but also the unforgiving philosophy of Häyhä Academy. Around them, students shouted commands, engines roared, and the distant thunder of cannons echoed through the forest.

On the field, KV-1s, T-34/85s, and SU-85s engaged in a simulated battle. The tanks moved with purpose, their crews executing orders with precision. However, Häyhä's training wasn't just about tactics—it was about survival. The students weren't just learning to fight; they were being conditioned to endure.

From the command tower, Lumi's emerald eye followed every movement with hawk-like focus. Her voice, calm but commanding, carried through the cold air. "Tank three, advance to cover! Tank five, hold your position—don't expose your flank!"

Aada, standing beside her, monitored a clipboard detailing the status of each crew. Her remaining eye glinted with determination. "We need tighter coordination on the left flank. They're exposing themselves too much."

Suddenly, a KV-1 took a direct hit to its side from a concealed SU-85. The force of the impact caused a small explosion, and flames erupted from the engine compartment. The crew scrambled to evacuate, their screams muffled by the roar of the fire.

The scene wasn't uncommon at Häyhä Academy. Injuries, burns, and concussions were part of the routine, a grim reality of their rigorous training. As medics rushed to the burning tank, pulling out the dazed and wounded crew, the other students barely reacted. They had seen it all before.

On the sidelines, second-year student Mikael Korpela, nursing a bandaged arm from a previous session, muttered to his crewmates, "Another one bites the dust. Hope they didn't forget to duck this time."

His gunner, a tall girl named Vilja, shrugged. "It's Häyhä. If you're not bleeding, you're not learning."

Back at the command post, Aino adjusted her scarf to cover part of her disfigured jaw. Her voice was soft but laced with bitterness. "Physical scars heal, but the mental ones... they stay."

Lumi's hand clenched into a fist, her expression hardening. "That's why we train like this. So no one else has to endure what we did."

For the students of Häyhä Academy, the Törni sisters were more than just commanders—they were symbols of resilience and vengeance. The story of their betrayal by Pravda Girls High School during the 61st National Sensha-Dō Tournament was etched into the academy's culture. Every scar they bore was a reminder of the fire that had nearly consumed them, both literally and figuratively.

Their scars weren't just physical. Lumi's even tone often masked the rage that simmered beneath. Aada's meticulous attention to detail came from a deep-seated need to control what she could after losing so much. And Aino, the youngest, hid her pain behind a quiet exterior, rarely speaking of the trauma that had defined her teenage years.

The academy's students respected the Törni sisters not just for their leadership but for their unrelenting dedication to ensuring no one else would suffer the same fate.

The battle continued to rage on the field. A T-34/85, commanded by third-year student Eero Heikkinen, executed a daring flank maneuver, taking out two enemy tanks before being disabled by a hidden StuG III.

In the control tower, Lumi smirked. "Eero's getting bolder. That's good."

Aada nodded, making a note on her clipboard. "He's improving. Still needs to work on situational awareness."

As the match reached its peak, another tank—an SU-100—took a critical hit, its turret jamming as smoke poured from its hatch. The crew managed to escape, but not without injuries. One of the students, her arm burned from the heat, clenched her jaw to suppress a scream as medics attended to her.

When the match ended, the surviving tanks returned to the staging area, their crews disembarking with varying degrees of injuries and exhaustion. Lumi addressed the assembled students, her voice cutting through the cold air.

"Today, we learned who can adapt under pressure and who needs more work," she began, her gaze sweeping across the crowd. "Mistakes cost lives. Out there, on a real battlefield, there are no second chances."

Aada stepped forward, her clipboard in hand. "Tank three—your driver's hesitation cost you the match. Work on your reaction time. Tank five—good execution, but your communications were sloppy."

Aino, standing slightly behind her sisters, spoke softly but firmly. "Remember what happened to us. Never let your guard down. Never trust anyone who doesn't have your back."

As the students dispersed, the Törni sisters lingered, watching the medics tend to the injured. Lumi's expression was unreadable as she turned to her sisters. "We push them hard because we have to. If they think this is bad, they wouldn't last a second against the Federation."

Aada adjusted her scarf, her voice steady. "We're not just training tankers. We're training survivors."

Aino, her gaze distant, added, "Physical scars fade. Mental scars don't. But maybe... maybe we can prepare them to handle both."

Häyhä Academy wasn't just a school—it was a crucible. The fire that had nearly destroyed the Törni sisters had forged them into leaders who demanded nothing less than perfection. For their students, the pain and brutality of training were the price they paid for survival. And for the sisters, it was a way to ensure that their scars—the ones no one could see—were not endured in vain.

The frozen plains of United Federation Tankery Academy (UFTA) were alive with the deafening roar of engines and the metallic clanking of treads tearing through the snow-covered terrain. The Russian and Belarusian students, clad in their cold-weather tanker uniforms, moved with purpose as they prepared for their latest training exercise—a simulation match unlike anything the Japanese Sensha-Dō Federation would dare to approve.

Here, there were no rules. There was only revenge.

Unlike conventional practice matches, this wasn't just about tank maneuvers or precision shooting. Today's session was designed with one specific enemy in mind—Pravda Girls High School. And the students made no effort to hide it.

The infantry division, composed of female students trained in mechanized warfare, had recreated a scenario where they would capture Pravda students who had supposedly abandoned their tanks. Dressed in mock Pravda uniforms, UFTA students playing the "Pravda crews" scrambled from the wreckage of their disabled tanks, only to be gunned down or captured by the advancing UFTA forces.

On the shooting range, things were even darker. The standard paper targets had been replaced with cardboard cutouts of Pravda's commanders and tank crews, their faces plastered with exaggerated smirks as if mocking the Russian students. As rounds cracked through the air, the targets were ripped apart by concentrated fire, a fitting metaphor for the burning hatred that UFTA still carried.

Standing at the edge of the range, Miya Oktyabrskaya and Anastasia Orlova observed the carnage with satisfaction. Their cold glares locked onto the tattered remains of Katyusha's and Nonna's cutouts.

Miya exhaled sharply, her gloved hands tightening into fists. "One day, we'll make the real ones pay."

UFTA had been forced to operate with WWII-era tanks due to international restrictions, much like L.P.U.A.. But just like their American allies, they weren't about to let some outdated rules stop them from leveling the battlefield.

Inside UFTA's massive maintenance hangar, Russian and Belarusian mechanics worked with smug grins as they stripped down old T-34s and tank destroyers, replacing their aging components with state-of-the-art modifications.

One of the mechanics, a 19-year-old engineering prodigy named Vladimira Kovalenko, stood proudly atop a heavily modified T-34/85, her face smudged with oil and soot. "This ain't a damn relic anymore," she grinned, slapping the side of the tank. "She's got the heart of an Armata MBT now."

And she wasn't exaggerating.

Engine Swap: Instead of the standard V-2-34 diesel engine, these "T-34s" were now powered by modernized engines used in Russia's latest MBTs, nearly tripling their horsepower and acceleration.

Reactive Armor: Slabs of ERA plates lined the hulls and turrets, negating the effectiveness of enemy HEAT rounds.

Transmission Overhaul: Modern electronic gear shifting replaced the ancient manual systems, making them easier to drive.

Targeting Systems Upgrade: The basic optics were swapped out for thermal sights and advanced rangefinders.

Auto-loading Mechanism: Some SU-100s were even retrofitted with experimental auto-loading cannons, boosting reload speed by 40%.

Standing nearby, Anastasia Orlova smirked at the results. "We just turned these antiques into killers."

Miya, arms crossed, nodded in approval. "They'll never see it coming."

The simulated match was a war game scenario. UFTA students, using their upgraded WWII tanks, would attempt to ambush a "Pravda-style" force using unconventional and modernized tactics.

The battlefield was a vast snowy expanse, featuring a bombed-out town, thick forests, and open plains littered with tank traps. The match started with two teams:

Team UFTA: Modified T-34/85s, SU-100s, and KV-85s, backed by mechanized infantry.

Team Pravda (simulated by UFTA cadets): Traditional Pravda-style formations and tactics to test weaknesses.

The "Pravda" team advanced in traditional Soviet formations, lining up in a staggered formation across open ground.

It was their first mistake.

The UFTA forces, using modern recon drones, spotted the "enemy" from miles away and adjusted their positions accordingly. While Pravda-style teams relied on direct assaults and overwhelming numbers, UFTA's strategy was built on deception and surgical strikes.

Hidden in the treeline, the modified T-34/85s remained completely still. Their new thermal optics tracked every movement as the mock Pravda formation rolled forward, oblivious to the ambush awaiting them.

Then, all hell broke loose.

The first volley of shells came from the concealed SU-100s, ripping through the leading tanks with brutal efficiency. HEAT shells slammed into the exposed enemy forces, obliterating multiple units before they even had a chance to react.

"OPEN FIRE!" Miya roared, her voice crackling over the radio.

The T-34s surged forward, engines roaring as their turbocharged powerplants propelled them at unnatural speeds. Using their modernized suspensions, they maneuvered effortlessly, exploiting the weaknesses of WWII-style tactics.

Within minutes, the entire Pravda formation was in disarray.

Some "Pravda" crews attempted to flee their burning tanks—only to be "captured" by UFTA's mechanized infantry, who dragged them to the ground, zip-tied them, and simulated POW extractions.

By the end of the match, the battlefield was littered with disabled tanks, mock casualties, and "captured" Pravda crew members.

Miya stood atop her SU-100, arms crossed, watching the aftermath. "If the real Pravda fought us today," she muttered, "they'd be finished in minutes."

Anastasia lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. "One day, we'll show them exactly what this feels like."

Nearby, a group of mechanics cheered as they tested another turbocharged KV-85, watching it launch through the snow like an MBT.

UFTA wasn't just training.

They were preparing for war.

Anthony stepped off the black-painted UH-60 Blackhawk that had brought him to Kalmar Union Tank School, the elite Swedish Tankery Academy. The moment his boots hit the tarmac, he noticed something different.

Silence.

Unlike other Tankery schools, where the sounds of tank drills, gunfire, and student chatter filled the air, Kalmar Union Tank School was eerily quiet. There were no students casually talking, no staff members laughing, no unnecessary movement.

The entire school carried the discipline of a military installation.

As Anthony adjusted his gray hoodie, his sharp dark brown eyes scanned the environment. The academy's architecture was a blend of modern Scandinavian efficiency and medieval fortress aesthetics, its gray stone walls and blue banners evoking an air of unyielding tradition. The Swedish flag and the Kalmar Union coat of arms flew high above the academy's courtyard, motionless in the still Nordic air.

Even the few students he did see moved with rigid precision, their posture straight, their gazes sharp. No wasted movements. No unnecessary noise.

A group of students clad in gray and blue uniforms marched in formation towards a nearby tank hangar, their synchronized steps almost unnerving.

Anthony let out a slow breath.
"This place is serious. Almost as serious as Häyhä... just without the crazy injuries."

As he walked forward, he recalled the rumors.

Kalmar Union Tank School was neutral in all Tankery politics.

They refused to involve themselves in the feud between the Japanese Sensha-Dō Federation and the international Tankery schools.

Their neutrality was so absolute that the Swedish Air Force outright threatened to shoot down a Japanese plane attempting to visit.

Anthony respected that kind of resolve.

He glanced over his shoulder at the two L.P.U.A. Marines who had accompanied him. Both were on high alert, hands resting on their sidearms loaded with rubber bullets—not out of fear, but out of habit.

This place was unknown territory. And unknown meant dangerous.

The Freyr Twins: Ghosts in Human Form

Anthony continued toward the main hall, his eyes locked on the two figures standing at the entrance.

They were twins, a brother and sister standing at an imposing 6'5", both wearing the gray-blue uniforms of Kalmar Union Tank School.

Platinum-blonde hair, sharp icy-blue eyes, and eerily perfect posture.

Their faces held no expression—cold, analytical, unreadable.

"Yeah... these two look like final bosses."

The male twin stepped forward first. His voice was deep, precise, and authoritative, carrying the weight of someone used to commanding respect.

"Anthony Ulysses Grant. Welcome to Kalmar Union Tank School. I am Gustavo Freyr, Overall Commander."

Anthony gave a slow nod. "Appreciate the welcome."

The female twin then spoke. Her voice was calm but sharp, like a frozen blade.

"Astrid Freyr, Vice-Commander. We expected you yesterday."

Anthony raised a brow at that. "Bad weather in Iceland delayed my flight. Couldn't do anything about it."

Astrid simply nodded once, as if processing the information like a machine.

Gustavo spoke again, motioning for Anthony to follow. "Come. We have much to discuss."

Anthony didn't hesitate.

As they entered the main hall, he couldn't help but notice how precise everything was.

No unnecessary decorations. No wasted space.

Even the lighting was positioned with military efficiency.

Kalmar Union Tank School wasn't just a Tankery academy.

It was a war machine in the form of an institution.

As they walked through the long corridors, Anthony finally spoke.

"So, Kalmar Union Tank School... you guys are the only ones who haven't been dragged into this Tankery mess."

Gustavo nodded. "Correct. We are neutral. Always have been."

Astrid elaborated. "We refuse to be involved in the power struggles of other Tankery schools. While Häyhä Academy is our neighbor, we do not take sides. Unlike them, we do not train with injuries as a constant expectation."

Anthony smirked. "Yeah, I noticed. No burn victims walking around."

Neither twin reacted to the joke.

Astrid continued. "We are only concerned with our traditions and our excellence in armored warfare. The international conflict between the Japanese Sensha-Dō Federation and the rest of the world is of no concern to us."

Gustavo glanced at Anthony. "We assume that is why you came here? To see where we stand?"

Anthony gave a half-shrug. "Partly. But I also wanted to see how you guys run things. L.P.U.A. respects strong schools. And from what I've seen, you guys don't play around."

Gustavo and Astrid exchanged glances, as if silently confirming something.

Then Gustavo spoke. "If you want to see how we operate, we will allow you to observe a training session. But understand this, Grant... we do not fight for sport. We fight for efficiency. Everything we do is calculated."

Anthony nodded, his respect growing.
"Yeah. These guys aren't just Tankery players. They're straight-up tacticians."

Minutes later, Anthony found himself at the edge of a massive snow-covered training field, where the Kalmar Battalion, the Livgarde Battalion, and the BlueTooth Battalion were conducting a large-scale maneuver exercise.

Tanks rolled across the white landscape with surgical precision, their formations adapting seamlessly as new orders were given.

The Livgarde Battalion, composed exclusively of Swedish tankers, executed a perfect flanking maneuver using their Strv 103s, Sweden's infamous turretless MBTs that relied entirely on their hydropneumatic suspension for aiming.

"They're using those like goddamn snipers... Jesus."

Meanwhile, the BlueTooth Battalion utilized Strv 74s and Combat Vehicle 90s to simulate mechanized infantry support, working in tandem with tank formations in a way that even L.P.U.A. rarely attempted outside of experimental scenarios.

Anthony folded his arms.
"These guys don't fight like players. They fight like actual military strategists."

Beside him, Gustavo observed the scene with his usual cold, unreadable gaze.

"Unlike Häyhä, we do not prioritize brutality. We prioritize superiority through absolute control of the battlefield."

Astrid added, "We do not leave things to chance. We do not hope for victory. We orchestrate it."

Anthony smirked slightly. "So you guys are the chess masters of Tankery."

Astrid simply responded, "We prefer to call it the Nordic Method."

As the exercise continued, Anthony decided to ask something that had been bothering him. "If Japan's Sensha-Dō Federation wanted to force your school to comply, what would you guys do?"

Gustavo didn't hesitate. "We would refuse."

Astrid followed up. "And if they attempted to use force or diplomatic pressure... the Swedish government has already made its stance clear."

Anthony raised a brow. "Which is?"

Gustavo finally smirked, though it was an almost imperceptible shift in his otherwise icy expression.

"We would not allow them to land on Swedish soil."

Astrid added, with no trace of emotion, "Our Air Force has standing orders to shoot down any unauthorized foreign aircraft that attempts to cross our borders."

Anthony stared at them for a long moment.

Then, after a beat, he let out a short chuckle. "Goddamn. Sweden doesn't fuck around."

Gustavo nodded. "No. We do not."

Anthony took one last look at the perfectly coordinated tank formations moving across the snowy terrain, their precision eerily mechanical, their calculated aggression unlike anything he had seen before.

Kalmar Union Tank School was unlike any other Tankery school.

They were silent. Efficient. Deadly.

And above all else...

Untouchable.