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Hover Training at Fort Independence
Day 1: Arrival at Fort Independence
Americana has an endless horizon of red sand and heat that clings to your skin like a second layer. They say you haven’t seen grit until you’ve trained here, and from what I’ve seen so far, they’re right. Fort Independence, the base for this training cycle, is a sprawling maze of concrete bunkers and endless lines of hover tanks, each one a testament to American ingenuity and grit. My tank, *Hellhound*, sat in the line, its freshly cleaned armor glinting in the harsh sunlight. It’s strange, but seeing it there, waiting for me, felt like meeting an old friend.
Today we hit the ground running and the air is thick with anticipation. My crew includes Davis, my gunner; Ortiz, the tech specialist; and Price, my navigator, each assembled by the tank. We’ve worked together for years, but every cycle feels like a fresh start. The stakes are always high, and Americana’s unforgiving terrain makes sure you never forget it.
Day 2: The Sand Trials
The first exercise, the Sand Trials, was a grueling test of our endurance and Hellhound’s resilience. We were up at dawn, engines roaring to life as we navigated a stretch of dunes designed to bog down the unprepared. Americana’s sand isn’t like Earth’s It’s finer, almost powdery, and it shifts beneath the weight of the tank, making every maneuver feel like a wrestling match.
Davis kept us steady with his cannon, taking out virtual targets that popped up unexpectedly. Ortiz monitored the engine and cooling systems, calling out when the thrusters started to overheat. Sandstorms are common here, and when one hit us mid-training, it caused our visibility to drop to near zero. Price’s voice was my guide, reading terrain maps and calling out every shift in the ground. We made it through the hull of the tank covered in red dust, but intact.
Day 4: Urban Combat Simulation
Today, we are slotted for an urban combat simulation. There is a mock town on the outskirts of base, a sort of ghost town of concrete and steel with narrow streets and alleys perfect for ambushes. It was our job to clear it of “hostile” drones, each programmed to mimic enemy movement and tactics.
Hellhound’s engines hummed as we entered the maze-like streets. The hover system made for smooth, precise movements, but the confined space meant every turn had to be calculated. Davis scanned for threats, his finger hovering over the trigger. The first drone popped up from behind a barricade; he didn’t hesitate, and the cannon roared, reducing it to scrap.
The exercise was relentless. Drones emerged from windows, alleyways, even rooftops. Price kept us moving, her voice a steady rhythm in my ear, while Ortiz managed the systems, making sure we didn’t burn out in the heat of combat. By the end, the mock town was littered with smoldering drone parts. We were exhausted, but there was satisfaction in knowing we’d handled it as a team, without a hitch.
Day 6: Live-Fire Exercise
Today was the live-fire exercise, and you could feel the tension in the air. This wasn’t just training; this was a reminder of what Hellhound was built for. We rolled out onto the open range, where steel targets were positioned at various distances, some stationary, others programmed to move unpredictably.
Davis was in his element, locking onto targets with a precision that made me proud. “On your left, Davis,” I called out as a target shifted. He adjusted, and the cannon barked, sending a high-velocity round through the air. The target exploded into shrapnel, a cloud of dust and metal in its wake.
Ortiz was a wizard with the systems, rerouting power to the shields when needed, then back to the weapons, squeezing every bit of power out of Hellhound. Price tracked each target’s location and distance, feeding me the information so I could position the tank for the best line of sight.
The exercise ended with the range littered with destroyed targets. Hellhound had performed perfectly, but we all knew it was a rehearsal. The next time, those targets might shoot back.
Day 8: Night Ops
We were pushed to the limit today with a night operation. Americana’s desert is unforgiving in the dark. Without the sun, the temperature plummets, and the sand solidifies, making every maneuver feel slightly off. We operated under low-light conditions, relying on thermal imaging and night-vision scopes.
Navigating in the dark was an exercise in trust. Price guided us through the dunes, her voice calm even when visibility dropped to nothing. The only light was the faint green glow of the controls and the eerie outlines of our surroundings through the thermal display.
Halfway through, a surprise ambush was triggered. Drones equipped with night-vision tech emerged from the shadows, and Hellhound lit up with return fire. The air was filled with the sound of energy blasts and the low hum of the hover thrusters as we weaved through the dunes, evading and retaliating. It felt almost like a dance, dangerous but precise. By the time we returned to base, we were running on adrenaline alone.
Day 10: Graduation
Today marked the end of the training cycle. Command held a formal debrief, acknowledging the progress and the lessons learned. They handed us the final performance report, a breakdown of every maneuver, every decision, every shot taken. Hellhound and her crew performed brilliantly. What a relief I thought.
Looking around at the faces of Davis, Ortiz, and Price, I felt a deep sense of pride. We’d faced Americana’s challenges together, braving its sands, storms, and harsh nights. There’s something about this place that tests you, makes you tougher, more resilient. For American tank crews, Americana isn’t just a training ground, it’s a crucible, and every cycle here burns away weakness, leaving only the strongest parts.
Tomorrow, we’re scheduled to ship out. There’s no telling where we’ll be sent or what we’ll face, but I know one thing: Hellhound and her crew are ready.
--- End of Journal ---
Journal of Captain Noah Reeves: Hover Tank Training on Americana