Thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review this; I hope to both develop characterization and have a chaotic tank fight in one chapter. Let's see if that works.

Also, about Schneider. Fun Fact: Schneider's name is a nod to German band I listen to. Guess what they're called.

---Southern England, September 6th, 1940---

"Where the hell is Gunther?"

Hans von Groebel looked towards the young second lieutenant. Werner was getting impatient. The 3rd Panzer could arrive any minute, and Gunther wasn't present. Which meant that Group Gunther wouldn't move out, which meant no-one would move out.

Hans began thinking to himself, and personally figured Welkin had gone to see a medic concerning his bruised head.

"Waiting for me?"

"Finally! Where the hell have you been?"

"Werner, leave Gunther alone. So what did the medic say?"

"I don't need a medic."

Hans felt his mouth lower into a frown. Before he could say anything on Welkin's condition, though, 3rd Panzers showed up, amongst the normal Panzer IVs seen just about everywhere there were was a German army unit, there were heavier looking tanks, with heavily sloped armor, and what appeared to be ragnite radiators on the back.

Bengal Tigers, no doubt.

Again, Hans stroked his chin concerning ragnite, and it allegedly getting rarer. Perhaps some scientist had figured out how to make synthetic ragnite. He wouldn't put it past them, in fact, it kind of made sense. It was valuable, and with unlimited ragnite comes unlimited funds and fuel.

He shrugged off the ragnite problems running through his head, returning to the fact that his division, the 9th Mechanized, (him, Gunther, and Werner, group-wise) was supposed to be following the line of tanks.

"Roll out, Group von Groebel."

---A short while later---

A shortage of Halftracks left squads A, B, D, F, and I on foot.

'She' was the Sargent of squad D.

'He' was the Sargent of squad B.

And a particular rifleman was bothering 'Him' about talking to 'Her'.

It all sorta made Adler wish he hadn't invited her to the Christmas party of '39.

"Peter, it'd never work. One, because she's taken, that lieutenant Gunther person's basically got her. Second, what's to prevent something horrible happening to either of us? It might not matter much to her, hell, I might just be another Sargent in the German army, but what about my end? Third, maybe you got this all wrong. Perhaps I just like her as a person."

Peter lightly shoved his Sargent.

"Oh, come on, Fritz. You don't think I'm stupid, do you?"

"No, but you could be mistaken. And don't think I don't know about you and Susie!"

"It's simple; There's nothing there."

"Riiiight. And there isn't a big-ass bruise on Gunther's forehead, right?"

"How'd he get that bruise, anyway?"

"Tent stake flew up with a pole, smacked him in the head... don't change the subject, damnit!"

"Just go talk to her."

"Fine, if it'll make you shut up about it."

Adler ran ahead of squad B. Who was he kidding? He did like Alicia. She seemed nice enough. Maybe just a little.

Maybe a lot.

Adler caught up with squad D.

"Ali... Sargent Melchiott?"

She turned to face Adler.

"Hmm?"

"Hi... remember me, from..."

"... Christmas party of '39?"

"Yeah... Adler? You remember that name?"

"Adler... yes, you invited me."

"You sure that wasn't..."

"Wasn't who?"

Alicia stared at the Austrian, as he turned to face into a group of trees, and pointed.

"Sniper. Over there."

"Wha...?" Alicia found herself cut off by a loud bang.

Adler pulled her down, as a bullet mark appeared on the tank she was walking next to. It was about were her head would have been.

"Uh... Thanks."

"You're welcome," Adler said in reply. He went running back to his squad. "Rothchild! Evans! Get your asses over here!"

The pair of riflemen ran up to the Sargent.

"So, you talked to her, and found a sniper that almost blew her head off. That went well."

"Shut up; I talked to her, and we have bigger fish to fry. There's a tommy sniper in those trees over there. We should take him out before he causes too much trouble; I don't think I'll be present for his sh..."

Bang! A scream.

"Heads down! Heads down! Anyone hit?!" a voice called out. It was von Groebel's.

Adler looked around. "We're all goo..."

Oh shit.

Squad D was standing around what appeared to be a dead body. Head count...

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...

Nobody had a pair of brown pigtails.

After a short second, someone from 'D' called out one word Adler hated:

"Medic!"

At least that meant she was still alive.

Adler relayed down the line. "Squad 'D' needs a medic! Pass it on!" The Austrian turned to his own squad. "Don't just sit there trying to catch flies in your mouth; kill that damned sniper!"

---Bunch of trees---

"Gotcha."

Smith was a bit happy with himself. If the shot wasn't fatal (and it probably was), he would have at least occupied someone to get that sargent. He reloaded his Enfield, looked for a new target among the plentiful targets.

Decisions, decisions.

He set his crosshairs on lieutenant. Blond hair, blue eyes. Only one with a swastika armband.

He felt the kick of his Enfield, and watched as a spray of pink came up in the distance.

Boom, Headshot, he said to himself.

A Gerry with a red cross on his helmet, running for the sargent, no doubt. Reload. Sight. Bang.

The German collapsed on the ground, having took a round to the leg. Now the medic needed a medic.

Reload. Sight. Sniper. Gray hair. Bang.

Scratch that. Make that No-hair.

Smith was loving this. To his knowledge, those bloody (in more ways than one) Gerries hadn't even found...

A bullet flew by Smith's ear. He felt a sharp pain, and clutched it.

Perhaps they had found him.

He turned toward the guesstimated direction the bullet came from. He found two soldiers; neither with a helmet. One had blond hair, what looked to be a pink bow, and the other wore a blue hunting cap.

Of these, only the one with the cap had him lined up.

He centered the sights on this bloke's head...

Smith felt a sudden sharp pain in his left arm, as his rifle fell down.

"God damn it, Gerry."

Smith beat a hasty retreat, leaving his Enfield. It would do him no good with only one arm.

---German Column---

"You alright, sir?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

The Medic looked at the soldier who had come to his aid. A woman, another medic, no less.

"It is nothing bandages and time cannot heal. Thank you, miss. But what about the sargent?"

"Don't worry; I'll take care of her."

"Help me to my feet; I'll help you."

"No. Just stay here."

He sat there. "Fine then; make haste. You should have checked her before me anyway."

The other medic ran off; to aid the Squad D sargent.

"The sargent won't make it," he said to himself, though he had no idea that another sargent was listening.

"What do you mean, she won't make it." The medic looked up to this other sargent; Squad B's sargent, no doubt.

"I think it's fairly clear, Sargent; She won't make it. There is only a minute chance that she will live, and that chance dwindles by the second."

The sargent grabbed him. "Listen, Doc. You have to save her. It's your job!"

"Put me down! It is not my job; My job is to keep the wounded alive long enough to get to a field hospital, which we do not have at current!"

"Then make one!"

"How do you expect me to do that? I am but a medic, not an engineer!"

The B-squad sargent dropped the medic, who promptly yelped in pain.

"Fine," said the sargent to the Medic. The sargent left.

---

"Hey! Hey! Lieutenant wants us out of the halftrack! Gunther's D-Squad sargent got shot, and they need something to keep her in!" The sargent of von Groebel's C-Squad said, banging on the side of the halftrack.

"Well, then, they can use their own halftrack. I'm not walking."

"Shut up, corporal. Everyone out."

Squad C, von Groebel's most experienced squad, going back to 1937, before the war had even started, climbed out of the Hanomag they had been riding in.

"Hey, Sarge. Which sargent of Gunther's got shot?"

"Melchiott."

"Oh. I remember her. The Christmas party! Remember that thing she did with the loaf of bread?"

Most of Squad C, minus the sargent, laughed in memory.

"Can it, Eichel."

"Fine, Sarge."

"Sargent Bergmann?"

The sargent turned around, and saluted lieutenant von Groebel.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Sargent Adler decided he'd stick with Melchiott. For the time being, B-Squad will be working with you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant!" Bergmann turned back to his squad.

"Ok. B-Squad's out a sargent for now, so that means we get two riflemen, a machine gunner, and whatever Schneider is."

"Now, when you say 'rifleman,' do you mean the rank or a person with a rifle?"

"Person with a rifle. It would have been capitalized if it were the rank."

"Sir?"

"Don't ask, Rifleman."

"Alright, then..."

Squad C was would could be called an "Assault squad." It consisted mostly of the German version of shocktroopers, which were called "Stormtroopers." Like Gallian shocktroopers, stormtroopers often had submachine guns. Unlike shocktroopers, they sometimes carried light anti-structure and anti-vehicle weapons, like the Germanized lance, the Armored Fist (the "Panzerfaust" to English ears).

"So, Bergmann, sir, where are the members of squad B?"

"Senior Rifleman Rothchild, Rifleman Evans, Rifleman Konrad, and Corporal Schneider will be here shortly."

"Mrm-hmm!"

"See?"

Squad C turned to Squad B.

"Squad C, Squad B. Squad B, Squad C. Ok, now that we know each other, let's go. Most of 3rd Panzers has passed us." Bergmann waved for the two squads to follow him.

---A Few Kilometers later, Lead tank, 3rd Panzer division---

"Assault Matildas! That was the battery!"

A large pattern of tread marks denoted a large amount of tanks had been in the area.

The captain in charge looked out through is binoculars.

"Yep. Assault Matildas, no doubt, Lieutenant. Radio to 9th Mechanized that we need their asses up here as soon as possible."

"Yes, captain!" The Lieutenant dashed off towards a Panzer V-R, Better known as the Bengal Tiger. He climbed into the turret, and grabbed a radio.

"Lark to Cuckoo, Eagle, and Sparrow."

"Cuckoo here. Eagle is KIA, sniper got him." the still somewhat drowsy voice of Welkin Gunther replied.

"Sparrow here." Von Groebel, no doubt.

"Where the hell are you guys? A whole shitload of Matildas came and went while you were back there!"

"Captain! The tank tracks stop here!"

"Impossible. Tanks can't just dissappear."

"Like hell. Look."

The Captain looked upon the sudden abrupt stop that the tread marks left.

"Hmm... I'd say this is a fake hill, or at least a hollow one. Perhaps this is were the Matildas are..."

"Captain? I see dots on that hill to the north..."

A loud explosion ripped through one of the less fortunate Panzer IVs, as the Assault Matildas in the distance opened fire on 3rd Panzers.

The Captain dashed to his own command tank, an Edelweiss, the tank the Bengals were copied from.

"Lark to all tanks! Assault Matildas to the north! Fire at wi..."

One of the 25-pounder artillery rounds smacked into the Command tank, as the armor-piercing shot blew the Gallian-designed tank in forty different directions.

"Captain! Captain!" One of the commanders of the Panzer IVs called out over the radio.

"This is Falcon. I'll be taking command of the 3rd Panzers for the time being."

"Colonel von Luck? Of 9th Mechanized? But sir..."

"Don't 'But Sir' me. All tanks, fire on the Matildas."

"Yes sir. You heard the Colonel; All tanks, Fire at will!"

The Bengal Tigers fired over the fake hill at the Matildas, though it was blind fire; they couldn't see whether or not they actually struck the British tanks.

---A Nearby clump of trees---

"Baker to Charlie, Baker to Charlie. Good Hit, Good Hit."

"You know, Nelson," began a British rifleman, "You should be a sargent by now."

"But yet I'm not," replied a commonly called-on Bren gunner. "OK, Charlie, ready for another load?"

"All ready, Baker. Tell us where to drop it."

"OK. Bring them about five meters to my right, try to strike that other funny Fritz tank."

"Got it."

Soon, another salvo came down, one of the rounds impacting the 'Funny Fritz tank,' though it did nothing.

"What the hell, Charlie? That didn't do anything to that tank."

"Describe it to me, Baker."

"Slopped armor, long, sorta narrow gun, a really funny set of wheels."

"King Tiger."

"What?"

"From the German for it, 'Koenigstiger.' Koenig means 'king,' and tiger is obvious. Ergo, King Tiger."

"Ok... Still has a funny set of wheels."

"Did we blow one of them up?"

"You blew up a similar tank. Slopped armor, thicker, stouter gun, and a bit of canvas over the mount."

"The Edelweiss? We killed the Edelweiss?"

"I... guess so. Gratz to ya?"

---This marks the end of Chapter 11--

Sorry about cutting you off mid-battle, but I really couldn't think of what was going to happen there. I'll continue it next chapter, I promise.

Also, how many of you did I piss off by having Smith shoot Alicia?