Chapter 5 — Private Lucy Reports for Duty
The Grand Tour of Salty HQ**
The next morning, Lucy arrived at Salty Base of Operations, which looked—depending on your eyesight—either like:
-
A state-of-the-art tactical HQ
or -
A glorified shed with ambition
Salty insisted on the first.
The misfits insisted on the second.
As Lucy walked through the gates, the entire squad perked up like meerkats on caffeine.
Sarah nudged Susan.
“She’s here! The new Solider!”
“She’s far too pretty for this place,” Susan whispered.
WhizzAir Winky ran up first, skidding to a stop.
“PRIVATE LUCY, REPORTING FOR… eh… VISITING!”
She saluted back dramatically.
“Permission to look around?”
“Aye, granted,” Salty said, puffing out his chest like a proud rooster.
He guided her deeper into the compound.
There were half-assembled gadgets, a couple of suspiciously smoking crates, and The Govna arguing with a vending machine about “constitutional snacking rights.”
But none of that caught Lucy’s attention.
Because suddenly…
She saw it.
Her eyes widened.
Her jaw dropped.
She clasped her hands together.
The Leopard2 tank.
Polished. Powerful.
And parked at an angle that suggested Ye Olde Large Lad attempted a drift parking maneuver.
“Oh. My. God,” Lucy breathed.
“She’s BEAUTIFUL.”
Salty grinned.
“Ah, you like tanks, do ya?”
“LIKE them?” she said, walking around the enormous machine.
“I adore them. Look at her! Look at the armour! The engineering! The sheer power!”
Ye Olde Large Lad nodded approvingly.
“Finally, someone who appreciates the lady.”
Ron Beefmaster snorted.
“She’s loud, heavy, unpredictable, and costs a fortune… so basically she fits right in with this group.”
Lucy climbed halfway up the side, running her hand along the metal.
“Do you think I could—”
Salty interrupted with a smirk.
“No, Lucy, you can’t drive—”
Before he finished, Lucy spun around, eyes sparkling like a kid at Christmas.
“Ooooh SHOTGUN! I CALL!”
The misfits burst out laughing.
Sarah and Susan clapped.
McFinleyyy whistled.
Funji Squallshy began chanting,
“LET LUCY SHOOT! LET LUCY SHOOT!”
Salty rubbed the bridge of his nose, torn between panic and pride.
“Well… I suppose you can sit up front. For now. Engine stays off.”
Lucy saluted sharply.
“Aye aye, Sergeant.”
She hopped down and stood beside him.
“This place… these people… this tank… I love it already.”
Salty blushed—actually blushed—as he scratched the back of his neck.
“Well, eh… welcome to the madness, Lucy.”
The Govna approached with a clipboard.
“Right then! As per Misfit Regulation 42-B, Subsection 7, the new Solider must undergo a basic tank safety briefing.”
Lucy grinned.
“Perfect. Where do we start?”
Ye Olde Large Lad answered proudly:
“Lesson one—never touch the big red button.”
Lucy’s eyes widened.
“There’s a big red button?”
Winky replied nervously,
“There was. We don’t talk about it.”
Lucy laughed.
“Right. Got it.”
And just like that, she officially became part of the team—
climbing tanks, learning chaos, and choosing the shotgun seat like the natural misfit she was.
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