The convoy crawled through the broken countryside of northern Romania, wheels and tracks grinding over the muddy road, pocked with shell holes and half-frozen puddles. Smoke from distant fires clung to the tree line.
Around the Anglerfish Team's Panzer IV clung ten Romanian infantrymen, rifles clutched tight. Most were silent. One hummed a folk tune under his breath, tuneless and low.
Inside, Miho sat in the commander's seat, headset slightly askew, her gaze fixed not on the vision slits but on her gloved hands. Her expression was unreadable.
Mako drove without a word, adjusting throttle and clutch with her usual sleepy precision. Yukari muttered to herself, thumbing through a tattered Wehrmacht field manual she'd practically begged off a friendly grenadier.
Saori had wrapped her scarf around her nose to block the diesel fumes and spoke only when necessary. Hana, serene as ever, kept a pressed flower tucked into her coat pocket.
Outside, war never left. Artillery rumbled in the distance—a second, deeper heartbeat.
As evening fell, they rolled into a forward bivouac near Botoșani. Smoke curled from camo-netted cook fires. Trucks groaned under the weight of the wounded.
A German soldier with half his face bandaged staggered past, his eyes wide with morphine—or madness. Another sat by a fire, staring into the flames, cigarette trembling between blood-slick fingers.
A knock on the tank's hull. Sharp. Authoritative. Krüger.
His uniform was streaked with road dust. He scanned each of them in turn with that same flat, heavy gaze.
"Out."
The Romanians dismounted first, boots splashing into pooled water, followed by five teenage girls in their blue jacket Oarai uniforms. A junior officer approached Krüger and spoke briskly about tank disposition. Krüger nodded, then turned to Miho.
"Kommandantur wants you refueled and ready by dawn. Recon reports Soviet movements north of the river. Could be a probe."
Miho nodded, but her stomach twisted—not with hunger, but a constant, low tension.
Later, huddled around a field stove, they shared black bread and thin soup with other Axis troops. A young German named Emil offered Yukari a piece of chocolate. She accepted it with the earnestness of a girl offered a Tiger II.
"Romance in wartime," Saori muttered, pulling her scarf tighter. Yukari chose to ignore and just grinned.
A veteran grenadier named Hoffmann showed Mako how to wrap her feet properly for the cold. She nodded once, then curled up near the stove like a cat and fell asleep.
Hana sketched quietly: a Romanian soldier with a dented helmet, boots steaming too close to the fire, smoke rising into a darkening sky.
For a moment, it felt almost normal.
Then the shots rang out. Three cracks. Close. Real.
Shouts in Romanian and German. Men scrambled, rifles raised. Chaos near the east perimeter. Then—silence.
Miho stood, heart pounding. Krüger returned minutes later, face harder than before.
"Bolshevik infiltrators," he said. "Caught near the fuel lines. Dealt with."
Dealt with.
The word echoed in Miho's mind long after he left.
Saori looked pale. Hana quietly closed her sketchbook. They deduced it was something bad from the expressions of Miho and kruger.
By morning, a light snow had begun to fall.
They worked on the Panzer IV with numb hands. Yukari explained, too cheerfully, how the cold affected oil pressure.
"Modern fuel is more resistant to freezing. What we're getting now is more... traditional. Less refined."
Saori yelped when she cracked a knuckle on a stubborn bolt. She was unfamiliar with the 1940's era tools. Meanwhile Mako muttered something about skipping morning assembly and for Sodoko to not report it.
Nearby, two Romanian soldiers danced to a hummed tune—ballroom steps, boots sliding in the slush. Germans laughed as they passed. Even Krüger smirked.
One soldier invited the girls to join. Saori accepted without hesitation, the others clapping along.
Then came the orders.
"Advance to the northern sector," a sergeant barked. "3rd Company, T-34s across the ridge. Infantry, too."
Miho climbed into the turret automatically, but inside her, dread stirred. Infantry. Their last fight was tank-on-tank, with special shells from Japanese tankery federation that ensured no one died. But now they were almost out. What remained were real rounds: Pzgr.39s, Pzgr.40s, and Spgr.39 HE shells.
One by one, the girls followed. Saori left her dance partner with a sheepish smile. Mako was already nodding off in her seat.
They looked to Miho. Only she knew German. Only she could relay the orders.
She pressed the intercom.
"Panzer, vor."
The engine roared to life.
Three Panthers moved with them, joined by a pair of Romanian 38(t)s. At the head of the column rolled a command Panther, led by a captain named Winter.
Two Sd.Kfz.251 half-tracks rumbled behind, packed with Grossdeutschland grenadiers. A captured Soviet Gaz-AAA truck followed, Romanian soldiers singing Drum Bun.
The Germans countered with Panzerlied. The voices mixed in clashing harmonies.
"What's wrong, Mädchen? You ride in a German machine—so sing like one of us!" someone barked over the radio.
Miho couldn't. Her mind raced with what lay ahead.
Yukari, ever the enthusiast, had already joined in when the Germans had started singing. Miho found herself singing too—half out of habit, half memory. Kuromorimine had drilled this into her.
Hana and Saori hesitated, unsure, but joined softly. Mako kept driving, half-asleep.
Then—
Gunfire.
Tracers snapped past. Small arms fire riddled the lead vehicles. Screams. Sparks. The convoy stopped.
Infantry leapt for cover. Return fire cracked from ditches and brush.
Singing died. Metal clanged. Bullets rang against steel.
The Panthers turned their turrets, ready to sweep the ridge. But Miho looked elsewhere—through the vision slit, scanning.
"Yukari, load Pzgr.39. Hana, rotate the turret—opposite side of the road. Saori, check the radio for Soviet armor sightings. Mako, move us uphill. I want a better view."
Winter's voice snapped through the radio: "Mädchen-Panzer, where are you going? Zurück in die Formation!"
Miho didn't answer. Mako maneuvered them onto a small incline. Miho rose through the cupola, binoculars up.
Then she saw them.
Smoke. Tracks. Engines.
A line of tanks—more than ten—crawled over the distant ridge. T-34/76s mostly, but two T-34/85s stood out like wolves among hounds. Infantry followed—dots in the snow and amongst the framland.
Miho ducked back inside.
"Saori, radio Winter. Tell him what we saw."
"I—I don't know how! What do I say?"
Miho pressed the intercom, forming the words carefully.
"Kommandant... Feind... mehr als zehn T-34... Infanterie... nah... hinter der Kolonne... bessere Position..."
Saori repeated it, haltingly. The radio hissed.
Winter's voice barked back: "Verstanden, Mädchen-Panzer! Position sichern! Feuerbereitschaft!"
Then he rallied the column:
"Panther-Kompanie, mit Mädchen-Panzer vor! Rumänen, bleibt auf der Straße und haltet die Infanterie fern!"
The Panthers advanced, ignoring the bullets still pinging off their armor. Romanian soldiers took up positions, the 38(t)s training their guns on the treeline. The truck with the infantry reversed, troops dismounting fast.
The real battle had begun.