Things had not gone well in the few days since the announcement of the school’s closure. Every club in the school had begun scouring for ways to save the school coming to the student council with various proposals with varying levels of viability. Every club, but the Raifurisento team who had thus far been silent. Not unusual considering the reputation of MacMillan’s Revenants. They kept issues in house until they were fully prepared to bring something to the student council, and that was why the officers and top NCO’s had signed on personal use of the library’s meeting room for the whole week, where they now sat in deep heated debate. At the head of the table sat their captain, now Fourth year Connor MacMillan, a once proud stoic commander with muscular features typical of his infantry role, now left a weakly gaunt figure. He looked over his officers giving passionate arguments from sunken eyes under the shadow of his dress cap. Covers weren’t usually worn indoors but today was different. As MacMillan’s second in command finished a speech detailing his plan to cross the no-man’s-land of school fundraising and other such politics, second year Corporal Mathias snuck into the meeting room with a newspaper and a letter in his hands. He scurried like a mouse unseen by the distracted officers to MacMillan and handed him the papers before leaving as quietly as he’d come. As MacMillan looked over the papers a thin smile began to creep onto his dry lips.
“Gentlemen,” his hoarse monotone would chill anyone to the bone, and still commanded the respect of his comrades who quieted down at his call. “I believe, I have found our school’s salvation.”
\/\/\/vvvvv\/\/\/
Once again the whole body of Vimy Ridge High School stood crowded together in the auditorium. The assembly had been impromptu, called on by a favour from the Raifurisento team. The students were hopeful, for the first time in weeks it seemed a real solution may be coming to the table. Out from the shadowy back of the stage, MacMillan appeared flanked by his two highest ranking subordinates, Lieutenants Daniel Feran, and Anthony Woods. The former a fourth year who had been with MacMillan since he’d joined the team, the latter a second year who had shot through the ranks in the previous year to his current position as commander of the artillery, earning him the nickname young McNaughton after the Canadian General of the first world war. The crowd erupted with cheers at the sight of them. Standing between his two best Adjutants made the unhealthily thin MacMillan look even smaller. At first glance you wouldn’t think such a weak looking person could command the respect of the entire student body of a rowdy boys high school, but when he put his almost skeletal hands onto the podium and cleared his throat every student shut his mouth and regained order.
“Hello everyone, thank you for coming,” MacMillan began, “I would like to start by saying no matter what the school investigation said… I am in part responsible for the position we find ourselves in today. My officers and I are responsible for filtering out candidates who cannot handle the stress of VR simulation, and as such the death of William Young is on our shoulders.” He paused letting his statement sink into the crowd. “However, I am not one to let a single fatal mistake that should rest with me bring my school down. The truth is the school board doesn’t give a damn about the death of William Young, what they care about is the legal bill his parents imparted on our school and in extension the board. As such they decided to pay that bill with our school’s entire budget in effect killing our school. However! While the headmaster did not mention it, as he doesn’t want to get your hopes up, there are ways we can save our school. Many of the other clubs and other upstanding students have looked into it and the consensus is thus. The majority of the most viable options will involve long political fights up the chain of educational funding bureaucracy and while I commend those who are willing to go down that road I am not one of them. No, I am someone who would rather go at this problem bayonet first, and kids I mean that literally. I have found what could be considered a shortcut to our issue. As most of you are probably aware, movements are being made at the university and adult level of battlefield sport to create a new combined arms hybrid game. And I have learned that those powers that be are looking to field this new game with an exhibition match between the Selection University’s Senshadou and Raifurisento teams against the Japanese Ooarai Girls Highschool Senshadou team and thus far no Raifurisento team as they are a girls high school. I followed Ooarai last year through the Japanese Senshadou high school ladder and they fought like devils to save their school from closure. But it seems they too are still on the verge of crushing defeat by a sneaky move from their own powers that be in control of money. This exhibition match is their last chance to get funding for their school, but they have to win it to fulfill their wishes. I heard about this through a letter from Ooarai looking for a Raifurisento team to volunteer to serve with them in this match. When I revealed our troubles to them, they countered by extending the agreement they made for their school to ours. If we choose to help Ooarai, and should we win, then we will get the funding we need to keep our school open. Do you have any questions so far. Show of hands please.”
At first not a hand raised, but then one small hand raised from the front of the crowd. A first year in the Raifurisento team's uniform.
“Go ahead, what’s your question?” MacMillan called.
The boy put down his hand, “Captain, this sounds great but… don’t they use cold war equipment at the Uni level? I’ve heard Selection has equipment going into the late 1960s.”
“Yes you would be correct. Selection’s Raifurisento team is well known as the infamous Bullfrog Air Cavalry. They have UH-1H helicopters armed to the gills and their infantry equipment consists of M16 assault rifles, M79 forty millimeter grenade launchers, M60 machine guns, and M14 marksman rifles with both regular and night vision scopes. In short they could outgun us with less than half our numbers quite easily.”
Another hand shot up in the crowd.
“Yes?”
“How many would they be fielding?”
“That we do not yet know. If they wanted to get as close to a fair fight as possible then they’ll match Ooarai’s full number of tanks with eight and probably a company sized force of infantry to boot.”
The answers to the two questions cut deep into the crowd’s short lived hope, but then one last hand came up in the crowd, from a fourth year student, Bert Hoffman, the Captain of the hockey team, “I have two questions Captain.”
“Ask away.”
Bert nodded, “First, when does the team ship out?”
His question was met with a wave of commotion through the crowd. MacMillan smiled, and raised his hand to quiet the people, “Immediately should we choose to go. Preparations have already begun at Ooarai’s current HQ. What’s your second question?”
The Bert pushed to the front of the crowd so he was as close to MacMillan as possible, “Where do I join up with your Revenants?”
Bert’s question caused an eruption of clapping and cheering through the whole auditorium. Cries of “Let’s go!” and “We’ll kick some Uni ass!” among other pro fight cheers.
MacMillan felt a bit of life come back to his posture as he heard the enthusiasm of his schoolmates and most of all the happy faces of his company who for this brief moment seemed to have their full spirit back. Deep down MacMillan’s ever calculating brain alarmed at the nye impossibility of victory no matter the conditions available to him.
\/\/\/vvvvv\/\/\/
The day after MacMillan’s assembly, the Vimy Ridge Revenants Recruitment office was flooded with recruits from every corner of the school totalling in four hundred applicants. By the end of the week however, the number of actual new members was whittled down to fifty. Their numbers were first annihilated by those students unable to get their parents to sign consent of risk forms, and those left were stripped to bones by the VR stress testing. At the top of the fifty remaining recruits was Bert Hoffman, who had led the recruitment effort, but had himself just barely passed the stress test. Now all that remained was the paperwork, and then the journey to come to Ooarai’s aid.