Yo, this is HereticalShinigami returning with chapter 21 of Girls Und Panzer: Open Warfare. This chapter is going to see the recriminations of Wellesley's team, as well as a shift towards a new kind of tankery from the cadets. They've got a long way to go, but they'll get there. Besides that, we've got Oarai to cover too, as they prowl down the road to a confrontation with the other beloved Brits from the series. (Although that won't be this chapter, as once again I've written far more than I anticipated)

If you've got this far through the story, you're a real soldier, I know my prose can be pretty dense. I'm still improving after all (or at least I hope I am).

Anyway, without further ado, here's chapter 21 (with a minor recap from the previous chapter):

The Docks, Shiranuka, Hokkaido – 1215hrs – Tuesday 11th February

"I think Pearce might be the lesser of several evils in this instance."

"And here I was thinking that I was the spawn of Satan himself to you girls," a slightly amused voice came from behind them. Angela, sat on the top of the Chaffee's turret, twisted around to spot the diminutive form of her superior officer, stood about ten yards away.

"Well, speak of the devil, and he will appear," she replied, almost good-naturedly, "I thought you'd deserted you were gone for so long."

"Maybe MIA, but certainly not AWOL."

Clark clambered down from the Chaffee to walk over to Pearce, where she leaned in to talk quietly to the smaller boy.

"The rest of the team are arguing about that stunt you pulled earlier. A few are calling for your removal. Some of the others are a bit angry. A few are sympathetic. My team have calmed down, but you'd better talk to the rest soon or it might damage morale."

"Understood, I intended to anyway. I also need to thank you for taking com- urk!"

Pearce's sentence was cut off by Clark smacking him in the chest, hard.

"No need to thank me," the black-haired girl said, with a serene smile on her face, "Just don't veg out on me again or I'll really lay into you. I expected better, Sam."

"Of course, Angela," Pearce answered, straightening out both his posture and his uniform once more, "Now before I have a talk with everyone, I don't suppose you have some tea?"

Recognising the request for what it was, a request for a private conversation, Clark nodded, playing along, "I think one of the grease monkeys set up something when we started filtering back here so we could get brews. C'mon, I'll show you where they put it."

Fortunately for the pair, the engineers had put the little table with the portable water boiler on well out of the way of the heavy machinery, so they did not encounter anyone on the way over. Availing themselves of the life-giving liquid, Pearce and Clark found a quiet area, nicely secluded, where they could talk to each other. It was Pearce who spoke first, looking up at the taller girl with eyes far wearier than one so young should have been wearing.

"Do you recall our conversation prior to this match?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Angela was curious what Pearce had to say, although she had a sneaking suspicion, and her eyes narrowed slightly.

"When we were discussing how we needed to win to stay at our school. You said that we needed to be prepared to go to any lengths to ensure that. I… don't think I agree with that anymo-"

Any further attempt to explain himself was cut off as Clark lunged at him, absolutely livid. She swung several times at him, which Pearce elected to evade as best he could.

"You bastard Pearce! I should have known you'd pussy out! I cannot believe I trusted you, thought you might actually manage it," Angela shouted at her CO.

In light of their similar situations, she'd genuinely believed that if they worked together as best they could, in spite of their differences, they might be able to stay at their school. Now here he was, telling her that he was willing to concede defeat, and that infuriated the Wellesley second-in-command. She swung again, aiming to express her anger the best way she knew, through her fists.

*Thump*

The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the immediate area, but rather than her fist connecting with Pearce, the diminutive cadet had caught Clark's arm by the wrist in a surprisingly tight grip, and was regarding his subordinate coolly.

"If you wouldn't mind, I wasn't finished," he said mildly. He was quite close to snapping at Clark, as he was rather thoroughly sick of her hitting him by this point. He'd tolerated it before, either because the strikes had been half-hearted or because he actually had caused her distress, but it was getting old by this point.

"Then speak," Angela spat, retrieving her arm from the boy's grip.

"Then listen," Pearce shot back, "I was trying to tell you that I am no longer prepared to go to any lengths to ensure that we stay at Wellesley. I-"

"Why?" Angela asked petulantly, attempting to keep a tight lid on her temper while she did so.

"Because my orders nearly sent five people to their deaths!" Pearce's voice rose, his calm demeanour eroded after such a long and demoralising day. "I refuse to allow something like that to happen again! The people on the other team, they are not our enemy, regardless of how much it looks like a battle, and I will not be responsible for someone getting hurt just because I want to stay at my school!"

"Oh, boohoo! People get hurt in these sorts of things, Pearce! I am not being sent home to my bastard father just because you were too weak to do what had to be done!" Clark shouted back angrily, before adding quietly, "I thought you'd understand why I have to win, why I can't go home."

She availed herself of a nearby seat, her fury and stress all proving too exhausting to carry on venting. The snow was still falling, and she could feel the damp meltwater beginning to soak her pants, but she couldn't care less. Looking at his number two, Pearce paused, the angry reply he nearly gave voice to lost at his comrade's final statement, and sat down next to her. It was clear that Clark was just as worn out as he was, and was equally on the brink of breaking down.

"I do understand," he said, as much empathy as he could generate pushed into his speech, "And that's why I promise you this. I will do everything I can to make sure you stay at this academy. I owe you that much. But I will not be the cause of someone else's pain to do that."

The boy thought back to earlier in the day, and the sinking T-34.

"I remember when that tank started sinking, and I saw those girls hurrying to get out, fear etched onto their faces. I couldn't get that image out of my head, and everything after that is a blank until our tank got knocked out. I don't want to see that happen again."

There was a grim conviction on Pearce's face as Clark listened to the boy speak.

"So on what honour I have left, I'm going to fight to stay at this school properly. I might even become a better person for it. But I could do with your help."

Pearce smiled at Angela as he said the last part, catching her off guard once more. She'd never seen him smile before, not properly anyway.

Well fuck, what was she going to do now? Heartfelt speech, rare outpouring of emotion, investment of trust, all of those bloody naïve things she hated, but Angela just couldn't bring herself to give her usual cynical response. Evidently she was getting soft.

"If you promise never to give me one of those godawful speeches again, I'm onboard."

"Perfect."

Pearce was still smiling, and Angela couldn't help but find herself smiling back. It was Pearce's turn to look a little surprised. Since she usually scowled or at best, smirked, he had never quite noticed how good-looking Clark was.

"Right, shall we?" Pearce stood up abruptly, smoothing off his coat again. The entire effect of him neatening his uniform was lost by the fact his uniform still had some tea stains from his earlier misfortune. "Now I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me, but you might have to sit through at least one more of my 'godawful' speeches before we're done, because we need to go and get the team back together," he said.

"Let's get a move on then, and get this over with," Clark said, standing up and falling into step behind the smaller cadet as they headed back to the vehicle park.

First Clark and Pearce headed back to the Chaffee, where Campbell team were still lounging around chatting, a couple of them with hot drinks in their hands to stave off the biting cold. Clark hollered to them as the pair approached.

"Alexis, Louise, Charlotte, Marian! Can you go and fetch everyone else for us? We need to have a word with the team."

Although the four girls were hardly keen to leave their comfy seats and warm beverages to go and muster the team, they complied without much comment and dispersed amongst the dockside clutter of vehicles and supplies, adding fresh footprints to the snow. As they did so, Pearce hopped up onto the turret of the Chaffee and perched on the edge, where Alexis had been sitting just beforehand. Angela clambered up next to him so they could wait for the rest of the cadets to assemble.

"So beyond the obvious, something must have changed your mind on how we were doing this," Clark said, "Care to tell me?"

"A fox convinced me."

The Wellesley 2IC looked askance at Pearce, wondering if he'd gone crazy. The half-amused expression quirking slightly at the corners of his mouth told her otherwise.

"You're deliberately being oblique with me, aren't you?"

"Perhaps."

It was at this point that some of the team began to trickle in, word having slowly spread about the meeting that was supposed to be taking place. As they spotted the pair atop the Chaffee, there were a few sullen murmurs, but it was only when Steven Hawke arrived that it began to escalate. The tall Londoner shoved his way through the other cadets to glare at his immediate superiors.

"I should just deck you now and be done with it," Hawke spat.

"Try me," Clark shot back, cracking her knuckles. Here was a potential outlet for her bottled-up emotions that didn't require any deep thought. A tap on her shoulder from her partner, however, served as a warning not to let this go any further. The last thing the team needed was outright physical violence at this time.

"Perhaps you might listen to what I have to say before attempting to 'deck me'?" Pearce said, wearily standing up from his seat on the tank's hull.

"Get on with it then," Hawke said, already looking fairly impatient. The sportsman was obviously reasonably agitated and did not seem keen on listening to anything the team captain might say, "I'm keen to hear the 'obviously valid' reason you acted so dishonourably.

"You'll be disappointed," Pearce warned. "I have no valid reason to give, because there is no justification for my actions. They were borne out of fear rather than logic. I failed to consider that I might be endangering other people in pursuit of victory."

"What fear could possibly have caused such an awful error of judgement?" Steven said mockingly. Pearce merely looked at him impassively.

"Tell me Steven, were your parents happy to see you attend this academy?" Russell team's captain looked caught off guard by the question, but answered it nonetheless.

"They were pleased that I'd chosen to make something of myself, and said I might learn a bit of discipline. And?"

"I'm glad for you. I've had no such luck. My parents are vehemently against my attendance at Wellesley, and are welcoming the chance to pull me away from here should I fail this course."

Pearce looked out at the forty-four other members of his team, attempting to keep his gaze, and his poise, steady. He felt the weight of eighty-eight eyes boring into him as he tried to summon the right words forth.

"That's why I'm fighting so hard. I love this school, and I will not spare any effort to make sure I stay here. And I'm terrified of failing. I don't want to leave behind this lifestyle, nor the people who I have come to hold dear, even if I've never told them so."

He looked at his own crew, Jo, Stephen, Andrew and Liam, before glancing at Chris, Elliott, and Katherine. A couple of them gave him reassuring looks as his eyes flitted over them. The snow, still falling, framed the scene well, a gentle falling of white onto the mass of dark grey uniforms, clustered amidst their tanks.

"That's all well and good," Chloe, the gunner of Marlborough team, piped up, "But did you think nothing of the stain on all our honours? What you have done has tarnished our reputation before the entire league!" The rest of her team nodded behind her.

The boy's head dropped, and his fists clenched and unclenched.

"That was not my intent," he said quietly, his voice strained, "One I will never repeat. It was a gambit of ill-considered desperation, and I regretted it as soon as I saw the results of those actions. No-one is more regretful that I am about what happened."

As he tried to muster the words to carry on his apology, his wavering speech was given welcome reinforcement by Angela, who decided at this point to intervene.

"Look, were it almost any of you out there who'd been in charge, we'd have been going home disappointed. Some of us, like Pearce, would be literally going home. At least he got us a win, which is good enough for me. As for that scene at the lake, it was a bloody accident! We were retreating, and needed to buy time. Why not blow up the lake behind us? It was a sound tactical move, but it was just 'cause he rushed it that it ended up like it did. We all make plenty of mistakes, you," she pointed at Hawke, "know that better than anyone with all the crashes at the start of the term. He's said he's sorry, now suck it up and we can get back to business."

It was not Clark's words that resounded with the cadets so much as her vehemence. This girl had professed a profound dislike in the very boy she was defending, yet here she was, defending him to the hilt. She raised some good points, but it was the conviction that she drove them home with that dispelled much of their anger. There was however, one man unaffected by this speech. Indeed, it seemed that Angela's interjection had only angered him more.

"Great!" Steven shouted, "Just what we need! The heartless bitch herself speaking up to defend the emotionless robot. May-"

"Hold your tongue, Mr Hawke," Pearce interceded, even before Clark could, "Feel free to hurl insults at myself, but watch your mouth about your comrades. Miss Clark has done her duty, and brought no shame upon this team, so kindly refrain from slandering her."

Hawke was nearly a foot taller than Pearce, but that dangerous glint had returned to Pearce's eyes, along with a cold fury that was just waiting for him to try something. The fact that Clark was racking her knuckles behind him did little to bolster his confidence. With commendable maturity for someone as prideful as he, Steven stilled his tongue, but his stiff posture and clenched fists betrayed his anger.

Pearce regarded the rest of the team, and seeing no-one else about to speak, he decided to finish his apology.

"Look, I messed up. I have brought shame upon this team, I know that. But please understand that was not what I intended. This school is my home, the people I know here my family, and I… just wanted a chance to keep it that way. I understand that my actions have made some of you question whether you want me to lead this team anymore, and that is for you to decide. I just want you to know that it has been a pleasure commanding this team."

He was greeted with stony silence from the team. Pearce turned on his heel on the Chaffee's hull, and clambered down the back of the tank. He was trying his best not to weep, lest he look weak in front of the team, but nevertheless, some tears streaked down his face. Fortunately, his back was turned, so no-one saw. But it was as he slowly walked away, boots tramping through the churned up slush of the dockside, he heard one of the people behind him clap. Then another. And another. Eventually most of the cadets were doing so.

Pearce turned round, a hurried wipe of his cuff drying the few tears adorning his cheeks. He picked out Chris from the crowd, as one of those clapping. From the small smile on the tall cadet's face, it was evident that he'd started this wave of applause. Given the disgust that he'd expressed with Sam earlier, it was all the more surprising to the Wellesley captain that Taylor would offer such a show of support at this time.

A few of the cadets were quite pointedly not applauding, Hawke amongst them, but Pearce ignored them as he stood there, somewhat staggered by his comrades' actions. The tears threatened to come forth once more, but he somehow repressed them. Taylor pushed his way in front of the team to stand next to Pearce.

"Ya know, I thought you were a bit of a lost cause earlier," he said, "But I don't think I've ever heard you speak as passionately as you did there. For me personally, I can accept that apology."

Taylor turned to his fellows, and raised his voice.

"Listen up! We've all heard what Sam has to say here, and I for one have faith in his words. He has given us an apology from the heart, and that to me is what matters. But some of you may still wish to see a different one of us leading this team as we progress. So I'm asking you all now, will you still stand with Sam, or do you wish to see another take his place? Raise your hand if you wish to see our current captain retain his position." Chris raised his hand to illustrate his point.

Not a soul moved for a second, and Pearce's heart sank. But this was a momentary lapse. The first hands that went up were his own tank crew, Jo, Stephen, Andrew, and Liam. More followed, Wavell team, Hobart team, Clinton team and more, until there was a clear consensus – Pearce was staying. But it was far from unanimity. Hawke had not raised his arm, nor his fellows Jake and David, or any of Marlborough team. As it stood, eight members out of the forty-four voting had expressed their opposition.

"Troublesome," Liam murmured. A unanimous agreement, even a begrudging one, would have been preferable, as it would have avoided the inevitable friction this result would cause.

"At least the issue hasn't been left to fester," Jo replied quietly, "If we'd delayed this, the team would suffer far worse."

Many of the cadets had come to the same conclusion. There had to be full reconciliation or it would adversely affect their performance. Friction would only reduce combat effectiveness, and with the opposition progressively getting harder to overcome, this was an issue they could ill afford to have.

"What would you have me do?" Pearce asked, looking at the eight dissenters. "If I am to restore any trust between us, what will I need to undertake to do so?"

"Swear it," Hawke said.

"Swear what, Mr Hawke?"

"Swear that you will never do something like that again. That you'll only lead us honourably, no putting people in danger, no underhanded tactics." The grim look on the face of Russell team's captain told everyone just how important this was to him.

Pearce was entirely unfazed by this. He'd already said he'd do this much earlier in the day, to someone far more important to him. Swearing it again made little to no difference. He raised his hand.

"I do hereby swear that I will undertake to lead this team honourably, devoid of dangerous or otherwise dishonourable gambits. In front of my assembled peers and comrades, I swear this, on my honour and integrity."

He raised an eyebrow at Hawke, attempting to gauge if the sportsman was satisfied by this. Judging by the look on his face, just barely. There was still a degree of contempt in those eyes, an antagonism that would likely never go away. But that was fine. Being disliked was something he could get over pretty easily.

"So?" Clark said, standing up from her perch on the Chaffee, "We done?"

"I won't say that I'm pleased," Hawke replied, "But it'll do. Me and mine have no further objections." Jake and David nodded their agreement.

"What about you then?" Angela pointed at Marlborough team, who had observed the proceedings and remained silent throughout. "You satisfied or not?"

Simon, who had thus far let Chloe do the talking for her team, stepped forward next to her so he could speak. The contrast between the pair, one short and dark-haired, the other a tall, athletic blonde, was quite stark, but they shared the same outlook.

"We still feel that the stain on our honour is unsatisfied, and that this personal affront can only be expunged in one way."

"So Pearce," Chloe added, "On behalf of our team, I challenge you to single combat over our honour. If you lose, we want you to step down as captain."

"What gives you that right?" Angela shouted, "You've already been outvoted, you can't just expect Sam to step down if you win a fight with him. What kind of -"

"Angela, please," Pearce interjected, "I asked what it would take to preserve this team's cohesion. I will not back down purely because of this task's difficulty." He turned to Chloe. "I accept your challenge. Let it be set for tomorrow, after classes have finished."

"In the sparring hall, in front of everyone," Chloe said.

"Done."

Excited murmurs broke out amongst the assembled crews. Chloe was pretty famed amongst the cadets at the academy for being good with a blade, particularly since she did re-enactment while she was on leave for the holidays. Pearce was no slouch, but it was still debatable if he could win against Marlborough team's gunner.

"Right, you lot!" Clark hollered, "There's nothing else for you to be here for, so get back to your crates and help get 'em loaded!"

The Wellesley students began to disperse as they were dismissed, each crew strolling off to get on with maintenance and repair before they were all reloaded onto the Dauntless. Marlborough team were one of the last teams to march off, with Chloe leaving Pearce with one final comment.

"Prepare yourself for tomorrow. I won't go easy on you."

"I will be ready. After all, I have no intention of losing."

The tall blonde walked off without so much as a second glance, leaving Pearce and Clark alone once more. The snow had abated by this point, and a relatively mild temperature was beginning to assert itself, but clouds overhead threatened a turn for the worse in the near future. The Wellesley captain wondered if this was a portent of things to come, before looking to his second, who was glaring at him with an irritated expression.

"Did you really just spend all that effort, that lengthy-ass speech and swearing an oath to potentially throw all of it away on a fight tomorrow?" Angela shook her head, her irritation giving way to an amused smirk. "You can be such a bloody idiot."

"That would make you the person who stood up for a bloody idiot then," Pearce replied, smirking back.

"Asshole," Clark shot back, "I don't know why I bother."

"Neither do I," Pearce said, "But I'm very thankful that you do."

"So what now?" the girl asked.

"Well, I imagine that I will have to explain myself to our superiors," Pearce said, "Although I believe if I go over Captain Hart's head, the headmaster may be more sympathetic. Unfortunately, while Captain Hart is smart, he is far too sentimental."

"You mean he's a bit of a pushover," Clark said, not wasting any effort on mincing words.

"He certainly isn't the most wilful or intimidating of our tutors," Pearce agreed, "But on this he might take a stand, at least against us, which is why I intend to have at least one of his superiors present to help back me up."

"Very underhanded of you. I like it."

"I try," Pearce replied good-naturedly, before turning serious once more, "I also need to offer my apologies to those teams I have undoubtedly offended, Pravda first amongst them. I'm not sure my conduct has been appropriate to that I should have been displaying."

"Pfft," Clark snorted in derision. "Maybe you should go and talk to the Pravda girl, but you haven't been rude to any of the others. Your usual distant and annoying self, maybe, but not rude. Make up with them another time, it's not a priority. Anything else?"

Pearce glared at Angela when she made her barbed comment about his normal apathy, but couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. After all, she was right. He hadn't really done anything out of the ordinary to annoy his opponents prior to the Pravda match; it was just the way he usually spoke to people seemed to rub them the wrong way, as it sounded either highhanded or uncaring. He put that to one side for a moment, quickly thinking through anything else that needed to be done urgently.

"Actually, yes, I have one thing I could use your help for Angela."

"What is it?" A modicum of curiosity crept onto the black-haired girl's face.

"I need someone to help me practice my bladework for tomorrow, and you are as skilled as anyone in our class."

A feral grin lit up Clark's face at the prospect of sparring practice. She had a lot of pent-up aggression to get out of her system, and this was one sure-fire way of working that rage off. One thought did pass through her mind though.

"Sounds like fun, but what about class?"

"Well there's no class today, so we have time when we get back, and as for tomorrow? I think I can logically protest illness, given today's events."

"Oh, playing hooky are we? Haven't we suddenly become a rebel?" Clark taunted.

"Do you want the chance to beat me around the sparring hall or not?" Pearce said in an exasperated tone.

"Yep, I'll take you up on that." The huge grin on Clark's face promised both pain and retribution in the most gleeful manner possible, causing Pearce to question whether he had made the right choice in asking for his second's help in his last-minute training. "Better get yourself ready, cos you'll be dicing Chloe into little pieces when I'm done with you, you'll be that good."

Pearce's eyebrow twitched. "I don't think I need to leave my opponent in pieces after I'm done. In fact, I'm quite sure we need her to crew the Churchill in our next match…."

"Pssh, details." Clark waved off Pearce's concerns as if she hadn't just talked about the violent dismemberment of her classmate. Pearce decided to change the subject before things got more out of hand.

"Anyway, now that's sorted, I need to get moving. Re-embarkation deadline is 3pm, correct?" He received a nod in response, as Clark tried to gauge where he was going with this. "Good, plenty of time to go and make my apologies to Miss Katyusha."

"Are you sure you need to do that now?"

"There's no better time than the present. You are in charge while I am absent, Miss Clark." Pearce simply turned and walked off after this, leaving Angela to go and deal with the remainder of the team's packing and maintenance.

Pravda Vehicle Park – 1300hrs

"Nonna! Have you called the Chairman yet?" A familiar childish tone carried across the assembled Pravda vehicles, parked in the shadow of the titanic carrier Kiev, which overshadowed its allocated part of the docks with its vast bulk.

"Yes, I just finished contacting him. He said the funds for a replacement vehicle will be allocated to our next grant." Nonna strode out from the shadow of the wrecked KV-2, which was currently being worked on by its 6-girl crew with frenzied efficiency. The baleful eye of Katyusha had convinced them it was more than their lives were worth if they left her precious KV-tan in its present sorry condition.

"Hmmph, I'd hoped he would give us some more on top of that to supplement our forces," Katyusha huffed. She was perched on the gun mantlet of one of the few surviving Pravda T-34s, watching as her subordinates milled around her. Her legs kicked back and forth in the typical manner of a child, incapable of sitting completely still for more than a few moments at a time. The oversized helmet Katyusha often donned was discarded on top of the T-34's turret next to her.

"At least we will be able to make good our forces," Nonna said. "I have given the order to prepare one of our reserve tanks to replace the one we lost today."

"Good. Now, do you have Katyusha's cocoa?"

The dark-haired sniper merely stepped up to the front of the tank and passed a flask to her superior, a ghost of a smile passing her lips as the little blonde gulped down much of the hot beverage, before letting out an appreciative sigh.

"Thank you, Nonna." Pravda's commander smiled widely at her closest confidant. "When will reloading be complete?"

"Assuming that basic repairs are completed on time, we should be back aboard in an hour or so."

"Good, I want a nap soon, I'm getting tired."

Nonna's deadpan reply was cut short by a commotion coming from the edge of the vehicle park. Raised voices carried over the biting wind, cutting through the clamour of repair noise. Katyusha glanced at her second.

"Nonna!"

The graceful sniper wordlessly strode off into the melange of parked vehicles without any hesitation. It was not long before the noise died down, and Nonna returned, a familiar figure in tow. Other members of the Pravda team scowled at the person as they passed, but the boy paid them no heed, merely fixing his gaze on the diminutive blonde sat on the tank in front of him.

"What do you want?" Katyusha said petulantly. Her ire was already somewhat stoked by the very sight of the Wellesley commander, and she decided that she should get this over with quickly.

"To apologise," Pearce replied. Those simple two words caught Katyusha off guard, perhaps more than they should have. After all, there was little other reason for him to come here, and he didn't look like the gloating kind.

After an extended pause as she reordered her thoughts, Katyusha reassumed her usual persona with a practiced ease. "Well, get on with it," she said, projecting irritation in her voice.

"Are the crew of that tank here?" Pearce asked, "I understand if they would not wish to see me at this time, but I feel I should apologise to them too." Katyusha considered the request for a second, before nodding at Nonna, who once more strode off into the vehicle park to find the five girls from the sunken T-34.

Katyusha regarded the retreating form of her friend for a second before speaking to the boy in front of her in an imperious tone.

"Katyusha does not count this as a defeat, just so you know. Only honourable opponents may claim victory over Katyusha." Pearce visibly wilted, but gave the girl a wry smile.

"I can but hope for a rematch then. You are an admirable commander, evidently possessed of no small modicum of talent."

The polity and warmth of Pearce's words confused Katyusha. They seemed to be entirely at odds with the person she had met before the match – a cold, distant, dismissive boy. She scrutinised the boy in front of her; he looked dishevelled, tired and worn down – if the red rings round his eyes were anything to go by, he'd been crying at some point too. Yet there was something there that gave this boy far more life than before – a flicker in his eyes, where before they'd been dead. Some of Katyusha's anger at the diminutive cadet dissipated as she continued her observation.

"As the commander for your team I would hope that you would accept my apology to your team as a collective, even as I must offer those girls an individual apology for affronts against them," Pearce said.

Katyusha gave a fractional nod, allowing him to continue speaking.

"My actions today were unforgivable, I know that, and I accept that neither you nor your compatriots may forgive me for them. But please know that they were not out of spite or hatred, and if I could erase them, I would…"

Pearce's spiel tailed off as Nonna reappeared, five girls in Pravda uniform in tow. The cadet resisted the urge to shudder in revulsion at himself as he looked at the five of them. One of them barely looked sixteen yet, and the youth of even the oldest reminded the boy that the lives he'd nearly cut short were not those of veterans, but of fresh-faced teenagers, members of his peer group. Even worse for Pearce, a couple of them could not even meet his eyes, as his presence evidently reminded them of the terror they had just endured.

He wanted to throw up. How could he have thought sinking their tank was acceptable? Pearce fumbled for words, the eloquent apology that he'd thought up falling further out of his grasp. Instead, he turned to the girls, the first tears beginning to run down his face, head held in shame.

"I'm so sorry," he said, fighting to prevent himself from sobbing in front of them, "I never wanted it to turn out this way. You might never be able to forgive me, but from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry."

This caught the Pravda girls quite off guard, and Pearce just stood there for a minute, waiting for any of them to say something, for a barbed comment or a venting of frustration, but none came. Instead, a soft tap on his shoulder made Pearce look around, barely making out a mop of messy blonde hair through damp eyes. The little blonde commander of Pravda was stood right next to him, a surprisingly serious expression on her face.

"Katyusha thinks she can forgive you. You put your feelings into your words to her, and Katyusha can appreciate this, as her subordinates can too." She gave an imperceptible nod to the girls in front of them, one of whom stepped forward, evidently the commander of the sunken tank. She was a pretty girl with a curtain of soft brown hair falling down her back, and she looked somewhat tentative as she went to speak.

"We do, Mr Pearce. It's ok, and-"

"But it isn't ok!" Pearce almost shouted the response at the Pravda girl. "I've caused you all great pain, some of which might continue for a long time. Some of you can't even meet my gaze, I've hurt you so badly. So why are you just forgiving me?"

"Because you came and apologised," the girl replied, "And unless you were lying to us when you said you didn't mean it, that's good enough for us."

The boy gave her a grateful half-smile, wiping at his eyes with his coat sleeve.

"Thank you –" Pearce hesitated, as he realised he did not know the girl's name.

"Anastasiya."

"Thank you Anastasiya. Thank you, all of you. It brings me some solace to know that you're at least ok. But I still feel I owe you a lot in recompense. If there's anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask."

The girl from Pravda apparently took some confidence from Pearce's words, and gave him a grin that the cadet found himself unsettled by. Perhaps he shouldn't have offered 'anything' as recompense?

"Just give us a good match next time," Anastasiya said, "And stop crying, it doesn't suit you."

"And you know, try not to sink our tank next time," One of the others joked, admittedly a little awkwardly, but it conveyed that there was no ill will there.

"I know! We were really attached to Dushka as well!" a third chipped in. Pearce chuckled at the nickname, as 'Dushka' meant 'Sweetie' in Russian.

After reassuring each other that there was no ill will between them, the five girls vanished back into the morass of tanks and supplies that littered the vehicle park. Pearce look at Katyusha, who was still stood next to him. He took a moment's amusement that he was taller than her, even if not by much, and was very careful not to let it show on his face. The little blonde, almost as if reading his thoughts, turned and glowered at him for a second.

"Is there something else you wanted?"

"Only to reaffirm my sincerest apologies and thank you for being so understanding. I must admit, your maturity belies your outward appearance, Miss Katyusha, something compounded by how you seem to behave publicly."

"Katyusha does not know what you are talking about." Pravda's commander huffed, pouting a little at what she construed as a back-handed compliment.

"Nevertheless, Miss Katyusha," Pearce said, laying a hand on her shoulder, causing the little blonde to look around at him, "Thank you."

He glanced at Nonna. "I'll show myself out, Miss Nonna."

As the long black coat of the Wellesley captain disappeared into the melee that was Pravda's camp, Katyusha glanced at Nonna, who looked back with a knowing expression and a hint of a smile painted on her lips.

"What are you looking at?" Katyusha snapped.

"My mature team captain, why?" Nonna replied, completely straight-faced.

"Shut up. And hurry the team along, I want to get home and take a nap." Despite her usual petulant tone giving her command a harsh edge, Katyusha grinned at Nonna, knowing that the stoic girl would merely roll her eyes and get on with it, while smiling serenely back.

"Of course."

Wellesley Vehicle Park – 1400hrs

"Taylor! Get off your sorry arse, your crate's getting loaded next, with or without you on it!" Angela yelled, her voice projected across the entire dockside in a manner reminiscent of a drill sergeant.

The recipient of the verbal onslaught was Wavell team's commander, who was lounging on his tank even as his crew scrambled to get their vehicle ready for transit. Chris glanced up from under his fringe to spot Clark, and made a dismissive gesture.

"Ah, I've got plenty of time," he drawled, "So just chill out. Or are you trying ta impress someone by being finished before he gets back, eh?"

One could almost see smoke pouring out of Clark's ears with that statement. Her fists clenched, and before Chris could make another witty comment, she'd closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, and decked Chris out of his seat on the Achilles. Amy, walking past with a bag full of repair tools, giggled at the sight.

"Keep your fucking mouth shut, wise-ass."

"Ya know, that was really tsundere of you right now."

"What the fuck is a tsundere? And this had better be a good explanation," Clark growled, taking a step towards Chris, who had righted himself.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you don't watch anime…" Chris muttered, "So don't sweat it, it was a compliment!" He cursed in his head, as there was no way his lie sounded credible.

"Somehow I don't believe you at all," Clark replied, completely deadpan. "But whatever, now get up and give your crew a hand, you lazy git."

"Wow, she is going soft," Chris muttered to himself.

"You want to repeat that?" Clark gritted out, a dark aura appearing around her as she cracked her knuckles.

"Not in the slightest."

"Good, now get out of my sight."

Chris quickly scrambled to his feet and vanished into the crowd of tanks and people, looking for some members of his crew. Instead, he bumped into Katherine, who gave him an appraising glance and a knowing expression.

"What did you do this time?"

"Would you believe me if I said I'd done nothing wrong?"

"Nope!" Katherine chirped, "It's more likely that you'd actually do some work, and that's rare enough."

"Hey!"

"Give me some proof to the contrary, and I might retract that statement," Katherine said, eliciting a sigh from Chris. "Now is there something you need, or are you just messing about?"

"Actually, I did have a question for you: do you reckon he's got a chance against Chloe tomorrow?" Wavell team's commander asked.

The blonde pursed her lips. "Why, do you think we might be finding a new captain soon?"

"We might be – Chloe's pretty good with a blade, and while I wouldn't count Sam out, he's going to find it difficult at the very least." Chris brushed his fringe out of his eyes. "I don't really fancy considering it, but what do we do if he loses?"

"I guess command would fall to Angela unless we forced a vote."

"Angela would cause the team to fall apart quickly, but so would all of us, even me and you," Chris mused, "All of us have people we dislike or don't get on with and that would make operations quite difficult if we can't work with cohesion."

"Well, let's just look at the people we have as captains – Angela"

"Temperamental."

"Hawke."

"Gung-ho, not a deep thinker."

"Rowley."

"Opposite problem. Shy and indecisive."

"Andrews."

"Too laid-back."

"Jones."

"More interested in the vehicles than the people."

"Williams."

"Since he's the one who proposed this fight thing with his second, he's right out," Chris said.

"That leaves me and you."

"And you're far too much of a workaholic, despite how admirable that is."

"And you're lazy and irresponsible unless it really matters." Chris adopted a look of mock hurt at the ruthless analysis of his other half.

"So harsh! And there I was trying to be all polite and make it out as if you were nearly flawless." Katherine giggled.

"You asked for it," she said. "Still, while it looks pretty bad, I'm going to have faith and believe that Sam'll pull through. And if he doesn't, you'll support me for captain, right?"

Chapter End

Omake – Start!

"Actually, yes, I have one thing I could use your help for Angela," Pearce said.

"What is it?" A modicum of curiosity crept onto the black-haired girl's face.

"I need someone to help me practice my bladework for tomorrow, and you are as skilled as anyone in our class."

Angela grinned. "I know just how to whip you into shape. You'll need three things: a bandana, a jogging suit and some trainers."

"I am already suspicious of where this is going."

*cue screen transition and music – Eye of the Tiger*

"Is a training montage really necessary? And also, how does punching meat in a cold room, skipping rope and jogging help improve my bladework?"

"It builds character."

Pearce's eye twitched as he stopped skipping, and instead held to rope in a threatening manner.

"Buried or cremated?"

"What?" Angela asked, thoroughly confused.

"I'm going to kill you, so how do you want your remains disposed of?"

Clark ran for it, an irate Pearce, still in a jogging suit, hot on her heels.

Omake End

Second Omake – Start!

Carrier Ark Royal – Wednesday 13th February – 0900hrs

"Captain Darjeeling! A package for you." A pleasant voice carried across the parade ground as St Gloriana's mail-lady addressed the tankery team leader. Dressed much akin to a Royal Mail employee in a smart blue uniform, replete with red delivery van, Chiho was instantly identifiable, and a well-known and respected figure at the boarding school. It helped that she was a polite and comely woman, and as such was an honorary member of the tea garden.

"A package?" Darjeeling asked curiously, greeting Chiho with a polite incline of the head and a smile.

"Yes, arrived just this morning. Be careful, says the contents are quite fragile."

Darjeeling took the parcel with some trepidation. Even with St Gloriana set up as a boarding school, it was rare for the students to receive packages at all, as there was little to want in such comfortable surroundings as St Gloriana, and as such, the handsome blonde wondered as to where this package originated, especially since it was nowhere near her birthday.

Thanking Chiho, Darjeeling took the parcel back to the tankery clubhouse, her friends in tow, before setting it on her desk. Pekoe handed her a packing knife.

"Should we open it, Miss Darjeeling?"

"Given the same situation, timidity will do a thousand times more damage than audacity."

"A paraphrasing of Clausewitz?" Pekoe questioned.

"Precisely. Only by daring to open it will we know its contents," Darjeeling said, taking up the packing knife and slicing the tape on the box, removing each layer of packing with care and precision.

After the final layer of tape had been removed, Gloriana's captain gently prised the lid of the box open, finding inside a wicker basket. Gently grasping the lid of the basket, Darjeeling opened it to find it was inside cushioned with tissue, and partitioned into four sections. Each section had a fine chine cup and saucer nestled in it, along with a different tea bag inside each cup: one Earl Grey, one Orange Pekoe, one Assam, and one Darjeeling. Darjeeling removed the cup from her namesake section to find a note inside the cup. Unfurling the note to its fullest extent, Darjeeling began to read:

"Miss Darjeeling, when we first met, I made a serious error in judgement. So focused was I on winning the tournament that I mocked your ideals. The chivalry and polity you espoused I felt were weaknesses that should never be brought to a battlefield, and in some ways I still stand by that. But I have since realised that tankery is not the same as battle in its truest sense, but rather a sport, and those admirable qualities you and your compatriots display do truly belong within it. Were you born in the British Isles I would be proud to call you my countrywomen. Please accept this small gift as token of my apology, and I look forward to the time I can offer you the same in person. Sincerely Yours, Samuel Pearce."

As St Gloriana's commander had read the message, her curious expression had given way to a frown, followed by neutrality, and then a smile had reappeared on her face, a genuinely happy smile, rather than her usual serene expression. She looked up at her compatriots.

"I think I can accept this apology." Both Pekoe and Assam nodded. They were both aware of how hurt Darjeeling had been when she had been told by Pearce that St Gloriana was less a representation of Great Britain than it was a caricature. To have that statement retracted was more than enough to make Darjeeling very happy, even if she didn't show it. An apology and a gift basket on top of that was merely the icing on the cake.

"Miss Darjeeling!" Pekoe said excitedly, "There's more in this basket."

The petite redhead had removed the bottom layer of tissue in the box to find another container, labelled 'Fortnum and Mason'. Inside was a selection of luxury goods, including a large box of shortbread and other biscuits, all from the UK.

"I would say this boy has outdone himself," Darjeeling commented, before Assam quietly handed her a very small wrapped box, tagged 'Darjeeling'.

"I believe this one is for you," Assam said.

The wrapping on the box was carefully peeled away, and Darjeeling was left with a glass container. Inside, mounted on a plinth, was a model of her Churchill VII, set in silver.

"So if the other pieces in the box constituted an apology, does this constitute a marriage proposal?" Assam joked, her vibrant purple eyes twinkling. Darjeeling did not reply, but there was unmistakeable shade to her cheeks that one would normally find on Pekoe instead. Before Assam could make any more jokes at her friend's expense, Pekoe saved the day.

"Shall we break the tea set in, Miss Darjeeling?"

The blonde nodded. "An excellent suggestion."

Omake end

That's a wrap! I'll be honest, this chapter has been incredibly hard to write, and I don't think its entirely up to snuff, but I fail to see how I could improve it (hint hint tell me in reviews how you think I could).

This chapter was designed to be the make or break – Pearce would try to make his peace with everyone around him, and the team had to make or break through that. He also had to apologise to the people he had wronged from the other team, and how they reacted would be crucial to his characterisation. I'll be honest, I actually hadn't decided before I wrote it how they would react, and I figured that my gut response when asking myself that question was the best route to go. The second omake in this chapter can be considered as canon for this story (the first obviously not), and I will most likely be writing more of them to show how Pearce rebuilds his relationships with each team.

That said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and soon we will see what the fate of Wellesley's team is, as well as the buildup to Oarai's long overdue rematch with St G.

In other news, I've started work on a collab series with the talented LW Kilroy, where short omakes (penned by myself) are given visual form by sketches done by Mr Kilroy. It'll be on DeviantArt, on the page: kilroylw . deviantart . com (just close the spaces up to get the web address)

Well, that's all for now, see you next time.