AN: Edited as part of the 2017 improvement project. Most of note, I've changed the story a bit so that no official rules are broken (a rule that I was unaware of had been previously broken).
The freezing wind chilled Wellington to the bone and sent large snowflakes flying into his eyes. He could only compare the blizzard with a strategic bombing raid against his face. Why did Pravda keep their school ship so far north? Even London's weather was bearable in comparison. Shockingly, every girl he saw wore the usual short skirt uniforms. Were they even human? That was no normal school. The boy sighed in relief when he finally entered the cosy interior, putting an end to the merciless assault of the cold against his body.
"Take a seat," Nonna said. She was a tall, elegant girl with long, straight black hair and a pair of light blue eyes. She moved with measured grace and spoke with a soothing voice, almost motherly. To Wellington, it felt uncanny.
"Peter. Darjeeling," Wellington nodded to the other two guests. They sat at a small round table with four chairs. To his left was the leader of Gordost's Senshado club, a boy he had met during the large party Eton had thrown. To his right, Darjeeling smiled brightly, taking the occasional sip from a teacup. As an introvert, he found the situation exhausting. Richard couldn't come, for whatever reason, so he had to handle it alone – an unfortunate scenario. "So, why are we all here?"
"I just dropped for an unexpected visit to my comrades. It's not that rare," Peter said. Wellington remembered the boy to be scarier, colder in tone and behaviour. For some reason, he felt brighter than usual – a matter of circumstance, perhaps. He was following Nonna with his gaze, and the girl seemed to return the look. There was something between them. Wellington thought that if he could notice it, Richard would be able to write an entire essay.
"I always drop by when Pravda is about to face an interesting opponent," Darjeeling said.
"So, I'm the only one who was invited?" Wellington asked.
"I think they want to know you better." Darjeeling took another sip of tea. "Wouldn't want to repeat the same mistakes as last year, right, Katyusha?" A tiny girl entered the room. She was minuscule, reaching Wellington's stomach at most.
"Napoleon!" Wellington said.
"Excuse me?" The girl looked confused. She had blonde hair and a pair of light blue eyes, a trait Wellington had found to be surprisingly common in Japanese people.
"I've read about you. You're not that bad a strategist, and given…" Wellington looked around. Perhaps it was not such a good idea mentioning her height. "…our upcoming match, you would make a good rival. So Napoleon is how I shall call you."
"I like it!" Darjeeling said. "Your sobriquets are positively fascinating! Dub Nonna next."
The black haired girl smiled faintly. She didn't seem to mind, which was good – Wellington didn't want to antagonize his hosts. "Well, if Katyusha is Napoleon, than Nonna must be Michel Ney!" Wellington said.
"And what does that make me?" Peter unexpectedly joined the game.
"I always thought you and your brother are like Lenin and Stalin." Wellington put up a forced smile.
"Not sure it fits…" Peter smiled back.
"We'll see if you're worthy to be called my rival," Katyusha declared, before sitting at the table as Nonna brought more tea and cookies. The room was silent for a moment. Wellington tasted the tea. It was inferior to what Eton had, but not the worst he'd drunk. Vaguely bitter, a bit astringent, obvious signs of over-infusion, and the flavour was almost non-existent – a no name brand, perhaps. Regardless, the smell, while plain, was still calming.
"So, I see that you survived the first match this time," Katyusha said to Darjeeling.
"Like I said before, Lady Luck is a fickle mistress. This time, she was on our side," Darjeeling said. Next to her, Nonna placed a jar of jam on the table. Wellington was baffled by it at first, before remembering that Russians usually drank their tea with it. "Thank you, Nonna," Darjeeling said.
"You're welcome." The tall girl reminded Wellington of Richard's maid – calm and elegant – but something told him Nonna was much more than that. He'd observed Pravda's previous battles. The girl was not a gunner he planned to underestimate.
"I do believe that it was more than luck that won you the day, milady," Wellington said, before raising his cup to his lips. Mid sip, he noticed Darjeeling trying to put a spoonful of jam into her teacup. "Oh, heavens no! Don't put jam into the tea. You'll ruin it," he said, almost instinctively.
The words were enough to stop the blonde in the middle of the act. "Ah, I keep forgetting."
Katyusha looked at them as if they both were wrong. "Do you two know nothing? You're supposed to take a spoonful of jam and then drink the tea!" she explained.
Wellington snorted. He didn't take to condescending talk, unless he was doing it. "Don't teach an Englishman how to drink tea," he retorted. "Still, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. I'll indulge you." The boy took as spoon of jam then another sip. To be fair, it did improve the taste, but only because the tea was inferior in the first place.
Katyusha ate the jam in a hurry. She was like a child desperate for sweets, jam all around her mouth. Nonna stepped up and cleaned her with a napkin. "Don't do that!" the little girl cried. Wellington gave Darjeeling a confused look, but the girl seemed familiar with the scene. Compared to Nonna, Katyusha was a complete polar opposite. Besides her, she looked like a child with her mother. Even after such a short time spent around her, Wellington could confidently describe her as arrogant, childish and easily angered.
"So, will you practice this time?" Darjeeling asked. "Or do you want to save on fuel again?"
"We'll do some warm up exercise, maybe… Did you come here for such a trivial matter?"
"Not at all. I came for some of your delightful tea," Darjeeling said.
"Déjà vu," Nonna whispered.
Wellington fought back a grimace. He was hoping the girl had spoken in jest. She probably had, as Gloriana's tea was far better. "If you wanted good tea, you should have visited Eton."
"I heard that!" Katyusha got on top of her chair and pointed menacingly at Wellington. "I'll teach you what the best school in Japan is! You're not worthy of being my rival!"
"Oh my, I can't wait to see the match," Darjeeling said.
Wellington snorted. The little girl was getting on his nerves. "Don't worry, milady. We'll teach them some humility."
"'Join, see the world, meet girls,' a great motto, but while we get a ton of volunteers for matches, nobody comes to training. We have an army of inexperienced wannabe tankmen!" There were only a few days until Eton's first official match, but Wellington wasn't too optimistic.
"Well, there are no girls during training," Richard said.
"Pravda will be a tough match. This is a horrible first draw. Napoleon is no idiot, even if she drinks tea with jam…"
"Katyusha?" Richard chuckled. "I see what you did there."
"A Cromwell, a Challenger and a bunch of Crusaders against T-34s, an IS-2m and a KV-2. Sharpe will have his work cut for him."
Eton had only a few permanent Senshado members. The rest were volunteers from various clubs. However, the club was smart enough to give roles based on talent, rather than shove entire clubs into a tank regardless of their personal skill. The unfortunate consequence was that morale and cooperation suffered. Some crews didn't even know each other's names, but the problem posed by the lack of experience was somewhat alleviated.
"He'll manage," Richard said.
"Where the bloody hell are the others? It's getting late." Wellington's voice echoed through the empty room. Only Richard had arrived on time for the club meeting – a common occurrence. It was one of the few times when Wellington was glad his friend was a perfectionist – he liked punctuality.
"I don't know about everyone else, but my cousin… he probably just got up from his afternoon nap. You know Maurice…"
"Montgomery, if you please…" a voice mumbled from the door. A freshman student entered the room and dragged his feet towards the closest chair. With eyes barely open and dishevelled hair, he looked as if someone had forced him to wake up after a night of poor sleep.
"It baffles me how popular your nicknames are…" Richard mumbled.
"You're late, Monty. Take a seat."
The boy pushed his black hair out of his eyes and sat on an armchair before dozing off. Everyone was used to his phlegmatic antics. He always spoke in weak and unmodulated voice, almost lethargic, as if half-asleep, so his comments were often ignored. When he paid attention, though, he became a valuable asset. "That only leaves–"
A knock on the door, another boy entered the room. With glossy blond hair, swept-back with hair gel, and blue eyes, he held a German Field Marshal's Cap in his left hand. "Herr Kommandant?"
"Guderian! Finally!" Wellington cried.
"Sorry for the delay," the boy said. Behind him, a third student came in.
"Salvete!"
"August, what in the name of God are you dressed into? Is that a skirt?! And sandals!?" Wellington looked at the boy baffled.
"You are mistaken, Legatus. This is my pteruges and caligae. Ave!" The boy explained and did the Roman salute. The explanation, however, fell short. Wellington remained just as baffled.
"August, you look just like the Augustus of Prima Porta statue!" Richard said.
"Gratias tibi ago!"
"I'm guessing that's some kind of Roman uniform or something," Richard said.
"You are correct, Cor Leonem."
"Don't call me that."
"Do you like my red focale?" Augustus said, pointing at the scarf tied around his neck.
Wellington's brow furrowed. The silly exchange was pointless and they were losing time. "Argh, enough of this! I need to brief you! We don't have all day!"
"Ita vero, Legatus!"
"Well, at least he didn't bring a gladius," Richard said. "Or a shield."
"Of course not, what use would those have in a tank battle?" said August. He took the Galea helmet he had on his head off and sat down.
The clock showed 4:14 PM. They were fourteen minutes behind schedule.
"Well then, I'll be on my way," Richard said. "You no longer need me to keep you company, and I have an appointment with Darjeeling."
"A what?" Wellington asked, a puzzled look on his face.
"We'll exchange swordsmanship tips. I'll teach her kendo and she'll teach me fencing."
Wellington sighed. "I don't even… whatever." Richard waved and left the room. He and Darjeeling had gotten quite close since the events of the infamous soiree. Things weren't the same between Wellington and Assam either. Richard's plan to stir things up had worked perfectly, although its exact effects were not yet obvious. But Wellington had bigger fish to fry for the moment.
"So what is the plan, Herr Kommandant?" Heinz asked. He had a subtle German accent. Franz Oskar Vogt was his real name, captain of the Historical Costume Club and second best strategist in the Senshado club. The title had become contested recently, after Monty's arrival, but he wasn't about to give it up without a fight. He had to live up to his name.
"I trust you've all watched Pravda's match with Ooarai," Wellington started. "As you saw, Katyusha, or Napoleon, as I shall call her from now on, is not an incapable strategist – at least not as incapable at the other schools – and Nonna, whom I shall call Ney, is a capable sniper. So, why did they lose?"
"They gave Ooarai three hours to surrender," mumbled Monty. "Vanity, I'd say."
"Correct, Montgomery!"
"Oh, the primadonna is awake, ja?" Heinz said.
"I'm too tired to fight you, wehraboo…" Monty yawned audibly.
"Gentlemen, not now. I'm just about to reveal my master plan."
"He started it," Monty said.
Heinz chose not to answer to the attack. "What do you have in mind, Kommandant?"
"An opportunity that Ooarai failed to see. We'll crush them like we crushed Boney at Waterloo."
A ZIL-157 truck with a BM-13 Katyusha rocket launcher on its back drove through the snow up to the gathering point. Wellington and his squadron leaders were already present. Katyusha and Nonna got out of the truck and approached them.
"Pravda's captain and vice-captain," Wellington introduced them.
"Wait, that tiny thing's a vice-captain?" Monty asked.
"No, that's Napoleon, the captain."
"What?! She's a senior? But she's smaller than me!"
Katyusha looked at Eton's lineup and started laughing. "You brought these tanks as a joke, didn't you? History is repeating itself."
"Make sure it doesn't repeat all the way," Nonna calmly suggested.
"Napoleon, nice to meet you. I'm Richard Stanfield, the club's captain!" Given their difference in height, Richard was forced to look down at her, but it was better than squatting to get to her level.
"Nonna!" At command, the girl promptly grabbed Katyusha and placed her on her shoulders. "All of you are below me, be it in tanks, skill or height."
"This is a joke, ja?" Heinz asked. "She's sitting on her shoulders."
"I heard that! How dare you insult me?! You'll be purged!"
"Oh, for a second there I thought she'd demand satisfaction," Richard said.
"I'm not talking to you! You didn't accept my invitation. I'm only talking to mister frowny over there!" she cried, pointing at Wellington. "If you're nice and bow before me I might accept you as my rival!" Other than his frown deepening a little, the boy looked unimpressed. "Let's go, Nonna. Bye-bye, Vatrushka!"
"Dosvedanya," Nonna said.
Wellington raised an eyebrow. "What did she call me?"
"I think it's a Russian dish or something," Richard said.
"What is wrong with these people?" asked Heinz.
"I hope that the irony of asking that while dressed in a historically accurate Wehrmacht uniform for the purpose of a sport match is not lost to you…" Richard mumbled.
Wellington sighed, his frown renewed. "I don't know what their problem is, but they'll fear us after this day."
"This was your glorious plan?! We're in the same position Ooarai was!" Eton had taken out the enemy KV-2 and a couple of T-34s at the loss of most of their Crusaders and were pinned down in the same abandoned building Ooarai had been in the previous tournament. The situation was eerily similar to the one Ooarai had found themselves in the previous year, except Eton had even less tanks.
"Calm yourself, Sharpe. It's all part of the plan," Wellington said.
"You sound like the Joker," Richard chuckled.
"This will be my Waterloo."
"So what, we'll wait for the Prussians to come and save our asses?" Sharpe asked.
"No. Today I will be both Wellington and Blucher. Boney will learn her lesson once and for all."
The familiar ringtone "Rule, Britannia!" echoed in the cold empty building. Wellington grabbed his mobile. "Go ahead!"
"Sahib Wellington! We're by the wrecked KV-2. The enemy has surrounded your building." After his Crusader parked inside the abandoned church, Gandhi was sent by Wellington to scout the enemy. "Napoleon and Ney are straight across from you." The young Indian boy relayed the enemy positions in detail. Katyusha wouldn't make the same mistake as before. She had her flag tank positioned right behind the IS-2 and surrounded by four more T-34s. The same insane strategy that netted Ooarai victory would not be possible. A direct attack would have been suicide, and with the flag tank heavily defended, there was no point to attempt a breakthrough. The situation seemed bleak.
"So, what now?" asked Castus. "Do we do the Anglerfish Dance?"
"Now, we wait," Wellington said. Just as he finished his sentence, a freshman from Pravda entered the building. She held a white flag. "Ah, just on time."
The cold wind blew the snow from the ground, forming white twisters across the battlefield. A storm was coming. The girls from Pravda gathered around their fires to dance and have fun for the three hours offered to Eton to surrender. Nonna wiped Katyusha mouth. She had just finished eating a warm meal.
"I can do it myself!" Katyusha cried. "Thanks for the meal." The girl yawned and stretched her short arms. "I can't wait to win. We'll have those boys weed our school for months! Or maybe tend our wheat fields! Or dig up our potatoes! Or everything!"
"You gave the enemy three hours again," said Nonna. "Are you sure that was wise?" In contrast to Katyusha's high pitched voice that sounded like cold wind blowing through the cracks, Nonna's was calm and soothing, warm even. The usual motherly gaze with which she beheld her schoolmate, however, was replaced by a more serious, questioning glance.
"They're even less of a threat than Ooarai was," Katyusha said. "They already lost most of their tanks. And to think that Vatrushka wanted me to call him my rival…" A childlike laughter came from Katyusha's lips, though the arrogance behind it made it sound more eerie that the pitch of her voice suggested. "The audacity!"
Nonna's smile returned. "You just want to eat and sleep, don't you?"
"No! I gave them time to surrender because I have a big heart!" Katyusha declared.
"As big as the West Siberian Plain, right?"
"Yes!"
"And just as cold."
"Shut up! I'm taking a nap." Katyusha grabbed her blanket and lay down on her improvised bed. She closed her eyes and waited for her friend to sing her usual lullaby – the one that always put her to sleep in mere moments. That didn't happen, however. Before Nonna could open her mouth, a set of explosions, like firecrackers in the distance, made Katyusha jump back to her feet. "What's going on?" Katyusha cried. "The enemy?"
"They haven't moved from the building. This is not an attack," said Nonna. She looked with her binoculars towards the abandoned structure Eton was holding up in. No movement was visible. A bad feeling crept in the back of her mind.
"Commander! One of the T-34s is on fire!" a girl's voice said over the radio.
"What? What did you do?" Katyusha wouldn't get her nap. She was furious. "Nonna!" Her larger schoolmate lifted her on the shoulders. "Forward!"
For one hour and a half, the Eton boys stood around doing nothing. Heinz and his club played cards, while Wellington's crew sat in their tank in silence. From time to time, Sharpe would walk to the entrance and peek outside. "So, what is your plan again?"
"Patience, Sharpe. It's almost time," Wellington said. As if on command, his phone started beeping. "It's time."
"For what?"
Wellington put his mobile up to his ear. "Gandhi, are you ready?"
"Yes, Sahib Wellington!"
"Good, wait for my command." The glorious strategist turned his attention to the boys in the building. "Everyone, get in your tanks!"
"But we still have one and a half hours," said Sharpe.
"Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected," Wellington said. The gunner finally understood. "Gandhi, deploy the decoy in two minutes!"
The boys got into their tanks and started the engines. The once silent building vibrated with the familiar sound of the Rolls-Royce Meteor.
"So what's with the decoy?" asked Sharpe. "And why am I the only one who doesn't know anything about this plan?"
"I don't know either," said Castus. "And I don't care."
"Firecrackers and a smoke bomb. It should get Pravda's attention," Wellington explained. "We don't want little girls to be running around the flag tank when we put a shell in it."
"Oh, so you do have a heart!" Sharpe said.
A series of sharp explosions echoed in the distance. "Wait for it," said Wellington.
"They took the bait, Sahib! They're running to the T-34 to the left of your position. Their main force is clear!"
"Roger!" Wellington closed his phone. "Heinz, have Tadatsune put smoke to the left of their main force. We'll charge in and take the kill!"
"Ja, Kommandant!"
"Roll out!" Wellington ordered.
"Panzer vor!"
"What happened?" Katyusha flailed her arms at the freshmen from atop Nonna's shoulders.
A small trail of smoke was coming from underneath one of the T-34s, but the series of small explosions had stopped. "I think there's something wrong with the engine," one of the girls said.
"That sounded like firecrackers," said Nonna. Katyusha jumped from Nonna's back and looked under the tank. The smoke had almost cleared.
"What is this?" Katyusha went on all fours under the tank. "Looks like burnt paper." An explosion sounded in the distance.
"No one's at the flag tank," Nonna realized. "It's a trap!"
Another explosion echoed in the distance.
"Pravda's flag tank has been eliminated! Eton wins!" the referee announced.
Katyusha crawled from under the T-34. Tears were running down her cheeks, she started sobbing. "But we gave them three hours! They cheated!" she jumped on Nonna and shoved her face in the girl's chest. Her friend hugged her tightly.
"There, there, Katyusha…" Nonna took Katyusha in her arms and carried her towards the flag tank. In the distance, a smoke screen was slowly dissipating under the blow of the snowy wind. The battle was over before the storm could arrive.
At the flag tank, August was waving Eton's standard on top of the T-34. The Cruiser Challenger was mere meters away from the Russian tank, its smoking 17 pounder almost kissing the armour of Pravda's flag tank. Wellington waited in his command seat.
Nonna wiped Katyusha's tears. Still whimpering, the small girl pointed furiously at Eton's strategist. "Va– vatrushka, you cheated!" the girl cried. "I gave you three hours! Why didn't you tell me you weren't going to surrender?"
"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake," Wellington said.
"That's Napoleon Bonaparte, right?" Castus guessed.
"You gave me three hours. I didn't give you three hours. I broke no official rules. I did not cheat."
Katyusha blew her nose in a small handkerchief. "You– you're worthy! Not even I expected something so devious! Vatrushka, I demand a rematch!"
"And you will have it," said Wellington. "But not before our new batch of tanks arrive…" he mumbled to himself.
"So, who's next?" asked Heinz.
"Kuromorimine. The elder Nishizumi," answered Richard.
"I heard they disinherited the younger daughter."
"Shiho Nishizumi, a tyrant of a woman. I call her Hitler."
"It fits her," said Richard. "For the first time I actually agree with your nicknames."
"Maho and Erika. They're like Manstein and Keitel."
"Ah, good comparison, Kommandant!"
"Get down here and shake my hand!" Katyusha cried, interrupting their dialogue.
"Of course, where are my manners?" Wellington was pleasantly surprised that his opponents hadn't taken defeat too badly. He jumped from the tank and landed right in front of Katyusha and offered her a handshake. "It was an honour facing you, Napoleon."
Katyusha looked back at Nonna for a second, but changed her mind before speaking. She looked Wellington up in the eye, grabbed his hand and shook it. "Same, Wellington!"