Hey there! I know it's been a while since I've posted (a solid two months in fact), but life got in the way. (Plus this chapter's like an extra 3,500 words so you basically get nearly a chapter and a half). In the time since I last posted, I've been on holiday, graduated university with a first class honours degree, got my first car, built a new computer, been accepted onto a masters course and started writing a trial chapter for a new story. So you could say I've been kinda busy. But worry not, I'm alive and still writing.
The first section of this chapter was created from an omake written by Warmach1ne32, who kindly offered to write out the spar Clark and Pearce were going to have from the last chapter. Since it was pretty damn awesome, I have since edited it and made it into a full-blown part of this story, as I thought it was too cool to leave out. So without too much further delay, here's chapter 28 of Open Warfare.
Chapter Start
Saturday, February 15th – Carrier Dauntless, 1530hrs
Following a lightning fast trip home, which saw Pearce trade in his uniform for a pair of MTP combats and a black polo shirt while Clark tapped her foot impatiently outside the door, the Wellesley CO and XO made their way to the gym the cadets usually used for sparring. It was empty, as per usual, as weekend training regimes usually didn't see the hall employed, and most other students were busy enjoying their weekend. The pair's footsteps echoed as they walked into the cavernous space.
"So, what sort of sparring are we going to be enjoying today then? Fencing?" Pearce asked as he began to set aside unnecessary items on one of the gym's benches.
Angela scoffed. "We aren't going with that glorified ritual and its first blood rules, we're not a boarding school. Or maybe you have some old Etonian in you?" Throwing one of the equipment closets open and pulling out her piece of choice she said with a smirk, "Nah, we're going to do some HEMA sparring today."
Pearce eyed the blade Clark was grasping with a mixture of curiosity and dread. It was a blade near as tall as he was, 150cm from pommel to tip, and from the way Angela was swinging the longsword it was a weapon she was particularly fond of. Finishing her practice swings, Angela plucked a fencing mask, padded jacket and a pair of padded gloves from another rack in the locker before hollering over to her comrade, "Come on and get your kit, we're burning daylight here!" A wicked grin crossed her face. "And I want the most time I can get out of this."
In response to his companion's shout Pearce padded across the hall and into the equipment closet, where he was greeted with a veritable wall of steel. The usual foils, epees, shortswords and all other manner of blades lined the walls, but there were a few more outlandish items amongst them, not least a halberd propped up just inside the door. However, the diminutive cadet ignored all of the fancy pieces in favour of a simple sabre, reminiscent of one his forebears might have wielded in the Napoleonic wars, roughly 90cm in length with a neatly tapered curve to the blade. Weapon chosen, Pearce donned his own protective gear to see Angela already prepared.
"Ready to lose?" she smirked, right foot sliding backward to put her at a 45-degree angle to Pearce as she readied her stance, blade coming up to point at Pearce's throat.
"Actually, I plan to win," Pearce replied, moving into his own stance, tucking his left arm behind his back, with body at a more raked angle and his blade out towards his opponent.
"We'll see about that," Angela said, grinning ferally as she slowly prowled forward. Her first move almost caught Pearce off guard, as a lightning quick thrust came in straight towards the bespectacled cadet's face, with Clark using the greater reach of her blade to her advantage. Pearce parried the blow and stepped quickly inside of her guard before riposting with a downward slash, prompting Clark to block it with her crossguard, the steel audibly ringing as the blades clashed.
Using her superior strength to her advantage, Clark applied pressure to the bound blades, causing Pearce to grit his teeth as he shoved back to maintain the current bind. Angela smirked as the balance continued to shift into her favour, her opponent's sword moving ever closer to his own throat, only for that to vanish as Pearce stepped forward and to the right, freeing his sabre for a cut in towards her left leg. Clark parried desperately, but it left her in too closed a stance to capitalise on her thwarting of Pearce's attack, forcing her into a series of hasty blocks against Pearce's more nimble weapon until Wellesley's CO ran out of momentum. When Pearce made his last strike, Angela met the attack with one of her own, using her weapon's greater heft to stop the slash dead on her crossguard with a loud clang.
Running swiftly out of patience, Angela growled as she used her off-hand to grip the pommel of her blade and spun her sword out of the bind into another swift attack. With scant milliseconds to react, Pearce redirected the strike with a careful motion of his sabre, attempting to leave his opponent over-extended. Ignoring the numbing sensation that the impact of Clark's blade sent up his arm, Sam capitalised on this opening, aiming for Angela's exposed right shoulder, only for his XO to leap nimbly backwards.
"Careful," Pearce cautioned, as both combatants paused to take a few mouthfuls of air, "I nearly had you there."
"Nearly isn't enough to win you victory," Angela smirked. "But it's as close as you're going to get."
"Well, if you're so sure, how about a small wager to sweeten the deal?" Pearce offered, playing to Angela's competitive side. The fight had gotten his blood up, and a grin threatened to split the normally reserved cadet's features.
"Go on…"
"First blood, winner gets their dinner paid for."
Clark licked her lips. "I like that idea. Hope your wallet is prepared."
The pair reassumed their stances. Angela once more chose to be the aggressor and closed the distance swiftly, leading with a straight thrust much like the previous clash. The gambit was met by a circular parry from Pearce, deftly deflecting the larger blade before moving in for a counter, only to be thwarted by Clark's guard again. Rotating her wrists, Angela disengaged her blade from the lock, into a deft downward strike that would have cleaved Pearce's head in two had it been a sharp blade, only for Pearce to dodge to the side, aiming a quick swipe at Clark's side as he did so. However, Angela pivoted on the spot and used her falling blade to bat the sabre safely away, earning both fighters a brief respite as they reset. Panted breaths could be heard from both combatants as they greedily gulped down air, yet neither their gaze nor their stance wavered, not wanting to be caught off guard by their opponent.
Eventually it was Pearce who broke the deadlock, stepping in with what appeared to be a diagonal strike towards Angela's right shoulder, only for him to flick his wrist halfway through the motion, changing the trajectory of his cut to the opposite side. Although an unexpected manoeuvre, Angela was unfazed as she stepped to the right while bringing her longsword across her body to parry the strike. Dissatisfied with his attack's failure, but not wishing to lose momentum, Pearce unleashed a flurry of strikes from all quarters, only for Angela to adopt a hanging guard, her blade pointed straight down in front of her, which enabled her block all his attacks merely by shifting her posture. Not to be outdone, Pearce feinted to the left, making it look as if he planned to use his sabre's curvature to slip around Angela's guard, only for Clark to call his bluff as he shifted, using her crossguard to lock his sabre in place, a smirk appearing on her face as Pearce realised his mistake. Stalemate achieved, rendering Pearce unable to use his more nimble blade to his advantage, Wellesley's XO released her off-hand from the longsword's pommel before gripping the blade itself and slamming the cross-guard into Pearce's forehead, sending him sprawling to the floor. A look of concern flitted across Clark's face before her counterpart began to haul himself to his feet.
"That stung," Pearce said, dusting himself off, trying not to let show that his head felt like a marching band was parading around it.
"Pffft, I've hit you harder," Clark replied, "But it looks like I'll be enjoying a meal courtesy of that little bump on your noggin. I've been wanting to eat at one of the restaurants in the logistics hub for ages, and it looks like you're my meal ticket."
"Well then, perhaps you'd care to up the ante a little then, in exchange for a best two out of three?" Pearce offered.
"Trying to save your wallet? It's not going to help, but you're on. Winner gets a full course meal at The Duke's Table instead." Angela shot her opponent a sly grin. "You know, I've heard that the cost of an evening at The Duke's Table may well run into three figures. So prepare yourself, cos your bank account is going to be crying at the end of this."
Pearce reassumed his stance immediately, waiting for Clark to strike. It did not take long for his XO to launch her attack, leading with a lunge for a third time. However, this time Pearce was prepared, neatly pivoting around her strike before slipping under Clark's guard to slash her across the stomach. Angela stumbled backwards, gasping for breath, as the wind had been thoroughly knocked out of her.
"I believe that is one all."
"Oh you're in for it now," Angela growled, leaping in to re-engage her opponent with more than a hint of rage in her voice. Her blows hammered heavily into Pearce's guard, forcing the diminutive cadet into a continual retreat with no respite. Despite that, there was a sense of elation in both fighters, a feeling of happiness in being pushed to the limits by a skilled opponent, especially one that they connected so well with. Despite the pressure of the combat, a smile tugged at Pearce's lips, threatening to betray his enjoyment of the fight.
Eventually Pearce slipped around Clark's guard again, breaking the taller girl's rhythm and shifting the furious battle into a new phase, one of strike, parry, counter-strike and dodge. Every blow was matched by another, steel meeting steel to send a ringing tone throughout the gym. However, it was not to last, as Pearce deflected yet another of Angela's strikes with a circular parry before stepping in for a counter-attack. Clark however brought up her cross-guard once more to thwart the manoeuvre, before hammering the pommel of her blade into Pearce's arm. Reeling from the force and with his sword arm numb, Pearce could offer little resistance as Angela pulled him bodily into her, resting her blade on the front of his neck while his back pressed into her chest.
"It looks like I've won," Clark whispered into his ear in an amused tone. Pearce was quite glad for the fencing mask he was wearing as more than a hint of red tinged his cheeks.
"It seems you have. Now, could you perhaps let me go?"
"Uh uh uh, what's the magic word?"
"I don't believe in magic. However, good manners compel me to say to please."
"That'll do," Clark laughed, before dropping her smaller comrade to the floor. As the pair pulled off their masks and gear, she spoke again. "Anyway, now I've got a good feel for what you need to do to improve. Firstly, you need to work on your physicality." Before Pearce could protest she continued, "I know you're small and not exactly the most physical of fighters, but it is a weakness that you can still make up for. You tend to spend more time with your nose in a book than you do in the gym, and I think you need to rectify that if you want to see some improvements, otherwise you'll always be at a disadvantage against more physical opponents. You're already reasonably light on your feet, some good cardio work should make you a scarily fast fighter, especially with a blade like that. However, you also have another glaring weakness; you do not improvise. You have an almost perfect grasp of the textbook manoeuvres, and your execution is damn good; it translates to solid skill. But you're predictable. Every counter is the recommended counter. Every attack looks like it came from a kata diagram. Even your feints can be read if you're perceptive enough. You need to learn to make your own plays as opportunities arise, both in a fight and in life, you can't plan for every contingency."
She tossed a water bottle at Pearce, who nodded his thanks before removing his gloves and taking a hefty swig. His eyes began to wander, before settling on Angela, as he found they so often did nowadays. The Wellesley XO cut a fine figure in her gym clothes in Pearce's eyes, with an athletic litheness to her frame that only reminded her counterpart of his own deficiencies, causing him to feel self-conscious for a fleeting moment. He was broken out of his reverie by Clark speaking to him again.
"Oh, and Pearce? If I catch you failing to capitalise on openings or refusing to strike vital points in our next spar, I'll bloody kill you."
"Next spar?" Pearce asked curiously.
"Well of course! With a free meal on offer every time I beat you, how could I refuse?" Angela said jovially. "Oh, and don't forget about our bet! Since I won, you're taking me to The Duke's Table. I'll handle the reservation, so you just pick me up tomorrow, 7pm sharp. Got that sweetheart?"
With a smirk and a playful wink, Clark exited the hall, leaving a very red-faced Pearce absolutely stunned.
It would be several minutes, and half a journey home later, that the adrenaline wore off and Clark realised exactly what she'd said while riding high on her win, leaving her in much the same condition.
Sunday, February 16th – 1100hrs
The next morning found Clark and Pearce back in Captain Hart's office once more, only this time the atmosphere was much more subdued. There was in fact almost total silence, broken only by the scratching of Hart's pen across some papers he was editing for a conference on the next weekend. The latter watched the awkward scene before him with some mild amusement, as his two pupils pointedly avoided eye contact with each other and refused to speak. Hart didn't know what had transpired between them, but he was perceptive enough to notice the signs, and were it not for the fact they were two of his most socially inept students it might have been quite cute. Smiling benignly, he turned back to editing his lecture on British tank theorists of the interwar period, knowing that the situation would resolve itself soon enough.
For the pair in question, soon enough was still too long a time, as seconds seemed to drag by for hours. Following the events of the previous evening they had neglected to arrange to walk together to Hart's office, both Clark and Pearce feeling too embarrassed to message the other, and neither of them had spoken to the other since their arrival, leading to a sense of tension that could be cut with a knife. For Pearce, he was still in a state of shock from yesterday, and didn't wish to open his mouth lest he prove that he was just imagining all of this as part of a fever dream. Angela was in some ways similar, since she couldn't process how some of the words she'd said yesterday had passed her lips, and decided to sit in silence in case she somehow added to the embarrassment she felt. While she often advocated a 'take action, think later' approach to a lot of issues, preferring to act decisively than merely wait, Angela worried that her impulsive action the previous day had perhaps made Pearce uncomfortable, hence his currently mute demeanour. It didn't help that he was hard to read either, meaning Clark rarely knew what he truly thought at any one time. As such, she decided to stay quiet, less she somehow worsen what she thought had been a negative event.
Fortunately for the duo, they were not forced to sit in silence for long as the monitor in front of them began to emit the ringing tone of an incoming call. With an almost audible sigh of relief, Pearce accepted the call through and the pair were greeted by the trio of Miho, Momo and Anzu, with Yuzu floating around in the background directing the rest of the student council's lackeys.
"Good morning ladies," Pearce greeted cordially.
"Mornin'," Anzu replied in her usual casual manner, giving a lazy wave towards the camera. "What would ya like to cover today?"
"Just a few logistical things that we would like to get out of the way, as well as a couple of command decisions that I was hoping we could finalise so I might draw up some preliminary plans prior to our meeting in person. Firstly, have you been able to liaise with the captain on your carrier regarding a course change?"
"I have," Yuzu chirped up, appearing in shot as she did so. "Given our position near Iwate prefecture, and yours just off the northern tip of Ishikawa, the captain believes it would be easiest for us to sort out the transfer of our tanks to your carrier in Funagawa port. It's got sufficient berths for several carriers, so docking shouldn't be an issue. At optimal speed they estimate it will take us two, maybe three days to reach the port, and then a short while for us to unload, but we should be back underway by Thursday, if not Wednesday afternoon if we're lucky."
"Which leaves us with a week and a half to whip our teams into a coherent fighting force," Clark said. "Hardly what I'd want going into a fight like this."
"Still, it's good news, and better than I'd hoped" Pearce said. "Thank you, Miss Koyama, I'll pass this information along to our head-teacher, who will make the necessary arrangements with the naval crew aboard."
"Of course, it was no trouble at all."
"The second point we wished to discuss is also one about your stay with us, as Captain Hart wished to talk about academic arrangements."
Hearing his name called Hart stood up from his desk and moved into the line of sight of the camera. "Yes, I wanted to ask as to whether your teachers would be assigning work for you while you were on this trip and if you required classrooms to be opened up to you or not. If certain parts of our curriculum are matched with yours, your students are also more than welcome to attend classes with the cadets, as although they are to be training with you our team is also expected to attend some non-tank based lessons."
Momo nodded. "That is much appreciated, and it would be of great use to us if we could get some classroom space to work in."
"That won't be an issue, I'll see that you are allocated some."
"Thank you. Is there anything else we needed to cover with regards to administration?"
"Not that I can think of," Pearce replied. "I'll contact you if there's anything urgent of that ilk. However, I wish to address a couple of things more related to the match itself, namely how our command structure will work. Miss Nishizumi, I am interested in how much integration you believe our forces should attain. Would you prefer that we operate in separate, but supporting echelons, or that we mix our tanks together into a more combined group?
Miho barely needed time to mull over her response. "I think we should try to work more closely together, so that we can rely on each other's strengths more intimately. Given that our opponents have a superior number of tanks to us, we should try our best to make sure we are better coordinated so we can close the gap."
"That was my thought too, but I thought I should consult you before I presumed too much. If it's alright with you, I'll begin drawing up some team exercises and drills that will help us strengthen our unit cohesion for the match, as well as some preliminary ideas as to how our strategy might unfold."
"Yes, that will be very helpful," Miho said, feeling some of her trepidation at working together with the cadets melt away. She'd in part expected the Wellesley students to be quite leery about working closely with people from outside their institutions, and either try to distance themselves from their partners or try and subordinate them. "I'll try to do the same, and we can exchange ideas when we meet."
"That sounds like an excellent idea," Pearce said. "Perhaps while your equipment is being loaded onto our carrier we can meet somewhere in the port? I also think we require a more cordial introduction than the sporadic meetings we've had in the last few weeks."
"I'd like that," Miho replied, smiling slightly. "If we can all get to know each other, it'll make working together that much easier."
"Splendid, I'll contact you to sort out the minutiae closer to the time. Other than that, I don't believe we have anything else we need to discuss." Pearce turned to Angela. "Is there anything you would like to add Miss Clark?"
Angela, who'd only been half-paying attention to the ongoing conversation adopted a look of concentration as she wracked her brain for potential things they needed to cover. "Do we know if we can supply all of Oarai's tanks with ammunition and fuel from our stocks? Or will we need them to bring it aboard with them?"
Pearce directed a questioning look towards Hart. The older man responded, "I think we should be able to make arrangements to supply Oarai's tanks with ammunition and fuel, however I would recommend that Oarai brings aboard at least a full ammunition complement for each of their tanks in case we cannot secure them before we require live-firing practice to commence."
"That's very kind of you," Momo said. "We'll make sure we have full shot lockers ready to be brought aboard with us."
"No problem at all," Hart replied, "After all, if you are willing to abandon the comforts of home to work with us, the least we can do in return is be gracious hosts."
"Anything else ya wanted to talk about?" Anzu asked, directing her question to the two Wellesley cadets.
"Not that I can think of," Pearce answered. "Again, if it's urgent we can always contact each other prior to Wednesday."
"Yup! We'll see ya then!" the student council president said, punctuating her speech with a lazy wave.
"Until then," Pearce replied, ending the call. Reclining in his chair, he looked over to his tutor. "I think that went well sir, our arrangements are sorted and we seem to at least be on cordial terms with our allies, so it looks promising. Thank you again for your help in organising sir, without it we would be in a far worse position of readiness for our next battle."
"I'm sure you wouldn't have had any trouble on your own, but you're welcome nonetheless," Hart said. The pleased tone he used made Pearce feel slightly guilty, since the latter had gone over Hart's head to expedite arrangements for Oarai's transfer despite being aware that his instructor had some confidence issues surrounding his ability to guide his charges. "As ever, if you need me to arrange anything for the team, you just have to ask."
Fortunately for Pearce, Hart didn't pick up on his student's inability to meet his gaze. "I'll keep that in mind sir, thank you." The bespectacled cadet retrieved his coat from the coat hook in the corner and folded it over his left arm, but paused before he headed for the exit. "I've already drawn up some preliminary ideas for cooperative training sessions with Oarai, but I'd appreciate your insight if that's not any trouble sir."
"No, of course not. I'd be happy to help."
"Thank you sir."
Pearce then exited the room, Clark trailing quietly after him with a quick farewell to their tutor. As the door closed, Hart smiled softly, before returning to his work.
Once they were out of the building, Angela spoke directly to Pearce for the first time that day. "I guess you felt a bit guilty about going over Hart's head didn't you?"
Boots clacked on the courtyard ground for a while before Pearce replied, "He means well, and wants to help, which I intend to support him in doing. I imagine you would be less than pleased with me if I went over your head on something you were meant to be in charge of, so put yourself in Captain Hart's shoes for a second. We have undermined his authority fairly frequently, and he was already somewhat uncomfortable in this role to begin with, as it appears to have just been thrust upon him. We should not be trying to make his position yet more awkward."
"You'd need a stepladder to go over my head," Clark teased in return, before spotting Pearce's unamused expression, "But I get your point. So I take it you're going to involve him more actively now?"
"Yes," Pearce said. "Captain Hart has a lot of knowledge to offer, even if he hasn't done tankery himself, and he's already proven that he's both efficient at both securing supplies and drawing up plans. Plus, I think it's the right thing to do."
The pair walked in silence as they made their way back towards their dorms. Both of them were struggling to find the words to say to each other; nothing seemed to feel right to bring up now. The sky, overcast since earlier that morning, seemed to reflect their dull moods. As a result, a journey that should only have taken a quarter of an hour felt like hours dragging by. It was only as Clark and Pearce were about to part ways that the latter finally spoke, gently tapping Angela's arm to get her attention.
"I'll see you later, Miss Clark," he said, pacing towards the stairs up towards his room. He paused at the bottom, before smiling towards her. "After all, I believe I still owe you dinner."
Angela took a second to recover before answering back, a smirk plastered on her face. "Damn right you do Pearce! After all, a bet is a bet, and you lost."
"Actually, I don't think I did," Pearce murmured, attempting to speak softly so Angela wouldn't hear him. Unfortunately for him, she could lip read, and coloured appropriately, although recovered her composure sufficiently that Pearce didn't notice when he smiled at her again. "Well, far be it for me to renege on a deal. I'll pick you up at seven Angela."
"Alright, see you later then."
The pair split off, Pearce ascending the stairs and Angela heading towards her block, although as the former reached his floor he paused before leaning over the balcony and calling to Angela.
"Actually Angela, now I think about it, I don't have anything on this afternoon. Perhaps you'd care for a spar?" He could almost see her feral grin as she turned around to look up at the top floor balcony.
"You. Me. Sparring hall. 30 minutes."
Pearce shivered. Something about Clark's tone had promised a thorough workout, although not a painless one, but perversely he was almost looking forward to it. However, his blood ran cold when he made his way along the balcony to his own dorm, only to spot Taylor outside his room, a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Spending some quality time with our dear XO?" he teased, causing Pearce to colour slightly, only to school his features into a typical mask of neutrality.
"I had a meeting with her and the Oarai team leaders," Pearce remarked, attempting to divert the conversation. "Or should our Executive Officer not be present for such?"
"Ah, but I don't recall meeting her for sparring sessions being a part of official business," Chris said, refusing to be diverted by the verbal bait. "Or taking her out to dinner. But then again, maybe I'm mistaken."
Pearce glared at his friend. "You will not breathe a word of this, or you will be taking the fast way down to the ground floor."
"Why, did they install a new elevator?" Taylor joked, although he regretted it quickly. Pearce stared at him with a look so utterly unamused it was terrifying, and Chris swore he could see wisps of a malicious black aura wafting off his smaller comrade. This time, Pearce spoke in a too-sweet tone that seemed to promise a great deal of pain.
"I do hope that you aren't treating my private affairs with too strong a degree of levity," he said, "As that may have an adverse impact on your life expectancy."
"Erm, no, of course not," Chris backtracked nervously, "Certainly such matters should stay private and thus nobody will know about them."
The malicious aura vanished and Taylor let out an obvious sigh of relief. Pearce merely smiled politely and went to open his door. "Oh, well that is good news. Now do you mind if I ask why you were seeking me out?"
"Me and Katherine and the others wanted ta know if you fancied coming round to ours for a meal this evening, but it seems that you have other plans," Chris said, stepping through the door after Pearce, wiping his shoes on the mat as he did so. Before Pearce could offer an apology, the Wavell team captain waved it off. "Anyway, it's no trouble if you're busy, at least you aren't waving us off with work like ya used to."
"Work is a valid excuse," Pearce retorted, though it was half-hearted.
"Only if it's work that needs to be done," Taylor countered, "But I suppose you have gotten better with that one recently. Anyway, you mentioned Oarai before. Why were you talking with them?"
"Oh, yes. I was going to announce it tomorrow at training, but the federation has decided that the next match will be a 2v2 rather than the traditional pair of semi-finals. As such we have been paired with Oarai Girls High School against the combined team of Kuromorimine and Bradley Academy. The meetings that I was having with Miss Clark and the Oarai team today were to affirm our cooperation and plan out how we were going to do joint training sessions."
"That'd be kinda difficult, given that they live on a different carrier to us, ne?" Chris dropped into a seat as Pearce continued speaking, his voice drifting out from his bedroom as he began getting together his kit for a sparring session.
"Precisely, and it's why next week the Oarai tankery team will be joining us here at Wellesley, for the period leading up to our next match, so we can work together and get a feel for each other's fighting styles."
"That's a pretty good id-wait, what?" was Chris's eloquent response. Returning to the room in combats and a polo, Pearce raised a quizzical eyebrow at the nonplussed Taylor, before sitting down to pull a pair of trainers on.
"I'm fairly sure I didn't stutter, but just to be sure, around the middle of next week the 30 or so girls on the Oarai tankery team will be moving in with us for roughly a fortnight while we prepare for our match together."
"Yeah yeah, I got that," Chris replied, "But won't the team think this is a bit sudden? When you tell them they'll have, what, three days, before Oarai shows up to train with us. I'll bet at least one of the captains will be annoyed that you didn't consult them before taking that decision."
Pearce sighed and reclined in his chair. "Maybe, but time is a luxury we can ill afford. We are at a sore disadvantage in materiel, so it seems like the only way we can make good that deficit is to take swift and decisive action to mould our team into a cohesive force. If our teammates choose to make a fuss over this decision it is clear they are more concerned with undermining my command than with the good of our team." He waved off Chris before he could interject. "I may not have been the best leader thus far but I am trying to make amends for that, and if they would rather destroy the bridges I want to rebuild, that is their prerogative. This was a decision that could not be made by committee, and all the prevarication of discussion would have led to us losing crucial days of preparation."
"I know, you don't need to convince me," Taylor said, "But I just wanted to point out that this is one of the reasons some people criticise your leadership. If you organise things and just expect people to follow, they are less likely to do so willingly than if you had involved them in the first place."
This caused Pearce to pause for a second. "Perhaps, but that assumes that they were willing to accept my leadership from the start. Nevertheless, I do see your point, perhaps I should be more conciliatory with our comrades than I have been thus far. Thank you Christopher."
"Hey, no worries, I just like being able to offer advice from time to time." Taylor grinned.
"Do you? I assumed your real passion was for causing havoc and irritating people," Pearce jested, standing up and heading to the door as he did so, Taylor following in his wake.
"Oh, you wound me so," Chris replied, reacting melodramatically. "You must tell me who writes your comebacks one day, maybe they can make shells that cut as deep."
"Well you would know, since you wrote them," Pearce shot back, "But then again, you were drunk at the time."
"Which time?"
"Every time."
Their little exchange of repartee over, the pair exited Pearce's dormitory, Taylor choosing to walk with Pearce as the latter headed towards the sparring hall. The overcast sky had cleared somewhat, letting a welcome, though faint, sun warm the air, helping to counteract the chill sea breeze, which brought with it the sharp tang of the sea.
"So then, you reckon we'll make a good team with these Oarai girls?" Chris asked. From what he'd learned of them from their limited interactions, they were nice enough, maybe a little eccentric, but who wasn't in this tournament? And despite their victories, Taylor hadn't detected any arrogance in the Oarai team, which seemed promising for cooperation, but Chris still wanted a second opinion.
"I think they were probably the best team we could have allied with for interpersonal reasons, but the worst in terms of paper strength. Overall I think this is the best deal we could have gotten, since I doubt we would work well with Bradley or Kuromorimine, and on top of that were we partnered with Bradley we would be up against a sibling alliance. In terms of tactics I also believe our combined team has advantages, given the potential for learning and sharing between our doctrines, and both of our teams' tendency towards small unit tactics."
"Che, so not too bad then?"
"Not when one considers the alternatives no."
Carrier Graf Zeppelin, Kuromorimine Girls High School – 1145hrs
This was not the thought running through the head of Maho Nishizumi, who was currently sat in her office, waiting for contact from Bradley Academy. She had sent them a message via their central office more than an hour ago, asking to speak with the captain of their tankery team, and had yet to receive any form of reply. However, it was not the act of waiting for a reply that was beginning to wear on Maho's incredible patience, but rather the behaviour of her XO, whose constant tapping of her feet and intermittent pacing was made only more annoying by infrequent outbursts of verbal frustration. Eyeing Erika coolly as she continued tapping, Maho spotted the beginning of another rhetorical question.
"Who do these American louts think they are, keeping us waiting like this? It's unacceptable!"
The Nishizumi heiress declined to favour that question with an answer, instead relaxing further in her office chair, enjoying the soft comfort of the black leather as she read through some reports by the engineering crews and tried to tune out Erika. These fleeting peaceful moments were not to last, however, as almost immediately the phone on her desk began ringing. Maho picked up the handset and accepted the call.
"Maho Nishizumi speaking."
"Great! Didn't get the wrong number after all. Name's George Abrams, leader of Bradley Military Academy's tankery team. I've been told that we're to be working with you in the next round of the competition." The cadet's voice was a booming one, ameliorated by a slight drawl that betrayed his origins in one of the more southerly of America's states, perhaps Virginia or North Carolina. It also bore a strong note of pride, something Maho mentally noted down for later.
"That would be correct," she replied, "I contacted your school with the hope that we could arrange some form of joint practice sessions, or at least pool our intelligence and planning."
"Yeah I got your message, thought it wasn't too bad an idea. But really, how much planning do you think we need? There's two tiny teams against both of ours, Bradley could probably take them on our own without your help. There's no way they're a match for us."
Writing off Abrams' hubris as being born of ignorance rather than arrogance, Maho replied evenly, "Perhaps, but why take the risk? Surely a commander is beholden to their troops to do their utmost to ensure victory. It is better to fight united. As Guderian once said 'you hit them with your fist closed, not your fingers spread.'"
"You might have a point there," the Bradley cadet said, "Rushing in blind could cause us problems, even if they're unlikely. Fine then, what do ya think we need to do?"
"I would recommend we have a conference to plan out our strategies and share intelligence," Maho said decisively. "We must coordinate effectively in order to maximise our team's potential on the battlefield."
"Fine enough," Abrams answered, "But we ain't doing it over the phone. Better if we meet up and talk about it, face to face. I want to know who I have to trust to watch my back in a fight, and I can't get the measure of you when you're hundreds of miles away."
"That is… acceptable," the Nishizumi heir responded. "Where should we hold this meeting?" She'd been caught somewhat off kilter by Abrams' request, as it seemed to be a particular quirk of his personality that had surfaced, but also by his demeanour in general. Their disagreement in the café following Wellesley's match with Kutusov had left Maho with a distinctly negative impression of her opposite number from Bradley, as he'd come off as rude and impulsive, without a shade of discipline. This stood in contrast to the cadet she was currently talking to, who, although lacking in decorum, seemed to possess a keen intelligence, even tempered as it was by hubris. Perhaps there was some potential in this partnership after all, although a quick glance at Erika reminded Maho that she had not yet factored in their teams as a whole, given her XO's previously explosive disagreement with Bradley's CO. Nevertheless, she was not given too much time to ponder, as Abrams soon spoke once more.
"Our carrier is docking in a few days, so if y'can meet us in the port that'd be grand."
"We have access to our Focke-Achgelis 223, so we are capable of meeting you there."
"That's just dandy. I'll send you some contact numbers so we can communicate in the meantime, and so y'all don't get lost on the way there."
"Understood. We shall see you in a few days. Good day, Mr Abrams," Maho said, their business concluded.
"See ya round," was the informal response. Having been raised in a household that often maintained quite strong levels of formality, the eldest child of the Nishizumi was somewhat irked by the American's more lax tone as it filtered down the line, although she didn't let it show. Instead Maho replaced the phone on the receiver and looked out across the mahogany desk to her XO, who was waiting with an expectant look on her face.
"Well commander, what did they say?" Erika asked.
"They wanted to meet in person a few days from now so we can arrange our team more effectively. Their captain was quite adamant we do so, rather than organise over the phone."
"So we'll be going where then?"
"Funagawa port. We'll be needing the helicopter, so I would like you to make sure it is ready for then please."
"Understood, although I think we could avoid wasting a lot of time if they just named you overall commander now. These cadets can't possibly think they can fight better than the practitioners of the Nishizumi style."
Although by this point Maho was somewhat accustomed to tuning out most of Erika's prideful boasts, she could not help but agree in some small way with her second in command. She had little doubt that by the time they had even reached the rendezvous for their meeting she could have had a full plan of action drawn up for the next match, to be refined as they trained and gathered intelligence up until the battle. However, Maho equally acknowledged that this round would be much more difficult to win if they could not forge some sort of working relationship between the two teams, even if it was simply one of mutual support, and that Kuromorimine would be sorely tested if they took on their combined opponents alone. Their fifteen tanks would be outnumbered, something her crews were unused to, and despite her best efforts to rectify the situation were still largely dependent on her guidance rather than relying on their own initiative. As such, accommodations had to be made.
"But would you back down and accept being the junior partner Erika?" Maho asked. "Our allies also have their own pride to consider - Bradley Academy is almost of the same stature as West Point in their home country; only its comparative youth prevents it from competing with the latter in prestige. Much the same can be said of all of the visiting teams in the tournament; they pride themselves on turning out model recruits, the great generals of tomorrow. Coming from such a place, I do not think it unreasonable to have reservations about simply handing over command to allies with whom you've never cooperated."
"Hmmph. I suppose. As long as they don't get in our way, we'll have no problems with them."
With that, the blonde marched out of the room to begin making preparations for their trip, and most likely harangue Ritakio for breaking the Jagdpanther's tracks again, since the tank destroyer's commander had had her vehicle immobilised yet again in practice earlier that morning. On the bright side, Ritakio's crew were becoming exceedingly proficient at repairing the aforementioned damage, but Kuromorimine's blonde sub-commander still found this unacceptable. As Erika disappeared from sight, Maho exhaled wearily. It was exactly that sort of attitude from her XO that was going to cause problems with their erstwhile allies.
Carrier USS Lexington – Tankery Team Club Room, 1200hrs
"See ya round," Abrams drawled out to his counterpart from Kuromorimine, before placing the phone back on its receiver. He stood from where he had been perched on the edge of his ash-wood desk, stretching some feeling back into his legs. As George did so his attention was captured by the voice of another cadet.
"So boss, what's the deal with those Black Forest girls?" This voice had even more of a drawl to it than Abrams', but it was one partially born of laziness rather than dialect. It belonged to another male cadet, tall, even more so than George himself, but wiry, whereas the Bradley CO was broad of build. Black hair contrasted Abrams's blonde, and messily framed relatively boyish but handsome features.
George didn't look round, but wandered instead to the window, from which he could see down onto the parade ground, where a different cohort of cadets was on manoeuvres. "Well Cal, if I was to sum them up in two words, I'd say, professional and uptight. Their CO kept calling me 'Mr Abrams'; she was so damn formal I'd swear my collar was starting to starch itself. Not that yours couldn't use a bit of starch, Cal."
"Hey, hey, my uniform's plenty presentable," 'Cal' replied, hurriedly straightening a few of the myriad creases in his uniform, even as he continued to lie stretched out on the office's couch.
"In an origami competition maybe. Although judging by those creases, folding ain't your strong suit, is it?"
"You say that like you didn't sweet-talk Sadie into doing your laundry for ya."
Abrams shot a grin back at the other cadet. He got on well with his XO, Callum Lawson, or 'Cal', as Abrams insisted on calling him, and the two had a good working relationship. They didn't really hang around with each other much outside of the club, but it hadn't stopped the pair becoming friends of a sort.
"Shirts aside, I doubt we'll make a pretty pairing with Kuromorimine. We might be able to work together, aye, but I reckon there'll be more than a few snags."
"Maybe we can avoid what happened in that café last time," Callum said, causing Abrams to cringe inwardly. He hadn't wanted to cause a scene in that quaint little shop, especially not in front of a number of the other tankery teams, but what that blonde-haired girl had said had just riled something up in him, the arrogance in her tone just dripping from every word. Well, hopefully he didn't have to see that particular girl again, at least not up close. It's not like she was someone high in Kuromorimine's hierarchy, right? "That'd be a good start."
"Anyway, apart from our allies, from what I c'n reckon the two teams we're facing haven't really got too much goin' for them. They're pretty tenacious, and I know that Oarai especially have some tricks up their sleeves, but they don't have the kit we do, and having the steel on the ground to do the job is half the battle."
"Don't sweat it too much boss man," Lawson drawled in response. "We give it our all, do our job, and if we win, we win, right? No sense in gettin' wound up over these things."
Abrams fixed his XO with an irritated glare. If there was one thing Bradley's commander and his second disagreed on, it was the level of seriousness with which they were to treat the tankery tournament they had found themselves in at the start of the term. Abrams, in keeping with the 'now or never' (informally 'do or die') motto of Bradley Academy, was fervent in his belief that it was the duty of the American cadets to win this tournament, while Callum took a far more laidback approach to the tournament, viewing it with the same lackadaisical idleness he viewed his studies. Were it not for the latter's competence, Abrams had no doubt that Lawson would have washed out in the first term.
Any tension was quickly dispelled however, as the door to the office burst open, a ponytailed brunette flying into the room in its wake. "Hey chief! What you got-" Her shout, and her headlong charge, were curtailed however by a large sofa, sat about two yards into the room, over which she went flying, ending up in a folded, upside-down heap on the other side. "Ow."
The girl pulled herself to her feet, a bashful grin on her face and one hand rubbing the back of her head. "Sorry about that, guess I wasn't watching where I was going. When was that couch put there anyway?"
"About three months ago Kerry," George replied. "You've even sat in it a few times."
"Oh yeah, now I remember!" Abrams smirked, holding back a chortle. The female cadet facing him, Kerry Latham, had managed in some way to collide with the furniture on at least three separate occasions in the last couple of weeks, a high tally considering how few meetings they held in the room. Her eagerness and gung-ho often led to her energy getting the better of her good sense, as Kerry's entrance had just demonstrated. However, far be it for the other Bradley cadets to get irritated by it, as the girl's boundless energy endeared her to almost everyone she met.
"Anyway, chief, what you got for us? You said you would be talking to those Kuromorimine girls today, so any news?" Kerry asked as she manoeuvred around the coffee table to stand in front of Abrams. She stood nearly a head shorter than Abrams, less a testament to her lack of stature than the Bradley CO's great height. Her build was neither slender nor broad, but it was hard to discern Kerry's exact proportions due to the large American tanker's jacket she wore over her fatigues, the bulky leather garment disguising much of her frame. Latham's other garments were somewhat non-standard too, patches of leather reinforcement covering the inner thigh of her baggy fatigue pants, evidently for riding, and a pair of side-buckled cavalry boots reaching two-thirds of the way up her calves.
"Yeah, just got finished talking to 'em now. We'll be meeting up with some of them in a few days to discuss strategy and suchlike."
"Sweet! Can I come?" the brunette girl asked eagerly, her ponytail swaying back and forth as she bobbed excitedly. Abrams almost couldn't stop himself from smiling; Kerry's mood was infectious.
"Course ya can, you're one of my captains ain't ya?"
"Awesome! I'm so looking forward to this now, I've even heard that Kuromorimine has a Maus, I can't wait to see it." It was hard to place her accent compared to the other cadets, as Kerry didn't hail from mainland, but rather the 50th state, Hawaii, which also accounted for her slightly more tanned skin.
"Maus?" Callum asked sleepily. "Ain't that one of those super-heavy tanks?"
"Yeah, it's a 200 ton experimental design the Krauts came up with in the last year of the war. It's practically a moving block of steel." Kerry's eyes practically lit up at the prospect of seeing some of the rarer German tanks; since they'd started tankery the brunette had been enamoured with seeing new and exotic bits of armour.
"That's pretty useful, I imagine Oarai and Wellesley might have a hard time taking it out if they came up against it. Plus, you could just sit in it all day and nobody could touch you…" Lawson drifted off into his own little world, the prospect of a tank where the crew had to put almost no effort in to defeat the enemy just too enticing a thought.
"Um, about that…" George interrupted, retrieving his laptop from the desk and pulling up a video online. Callum peered at the screen as a clip from the previous term's tankery tournament came up, mouth agape as he watched a Hetzer plough underneath Kuromorimine's Maus, before a Type 89 Medium tank used it as a ramp to jam the Maus' turret, a Panzer IV then delivering the finishing blow.
"What the….."
"Fuck." Kerry started the phrase, with Callum completing it. It was as the pair tried to process the spectacle they'd just seen that another cadet walked into the room.
"Hey there, did I miss anything?"
The fourth cadet to enter the room was slight; unlike her fellows she bore few of the signs of the rigorous physical regime that Bradley's students went through, although Abrams knew this was deceptive. She also had the sun-kissed skin of a Californian, rather unlike Kerry's native tan or George and Callum's more ruddy complexions. However, the girl's most striking feature at a glance was her hair, which cascaded down her back in a muted shade of lavender.
Abrams looked up to greet the new arrival as his subordinates tried to compose themselves. "Hey Nina," he greeted. "You didn't miss anything, just these two picking their jaws up off the floor."
"Oh, why?"
Bradley's XO handed his subordinate the laptop, leaving her to watch the video as she plopped down on the sofa. "This is what we're up against in the next round, and who we're going to be working with."
"That's… interesting," Nina said, with characteristic understatement, once the clip had played through. "I'm gonna hazard a guess that the guys who were pulling all the crazy stunts off aren't on our side."
"Yup."
"Ah. Is that going to be a problem?" The lavender-haired cadet was possibly the most level-headed of Abrams' adjutants, a trait that made her ideal for the role she played in the Bradley team. However, like many of her teammates, once she was riled up, it was hard to calm her down again.
"Could be," Abrams replied. "Like I said to Cal, they have some tricks up their sleeves, but we've got the kit and the guts to hit 'em where it hurts. As long as we hit them hard and fast, keep our eyes open, we'll have it sewn up tight."
"Okay then, anything else I need to know?" Nina answered cheerfully.
"Yeah, in a few days we'll be meeting our partners for the next match. I'll want you with me, Cal and Kerry for that meeting."
"Got it."
"We're going to sort out working with these Black Forest girls, and then we're going to sort out Oarai and Wellesley. They won't stop us," George proclaimed, a feral grin prominent on his features. "We'll smash through any obstacle and show just how strong Bradley Academy is by winning this tournament."
Carrier Dauntless – 1858hrs
Pearce fiddled with his collar for what must have been the twentieth time since leaving his dormitory less than ten minutes prior. Although it was but a short walk to Angela's dormitory, Pearce wanted to be punctual so had made sure to leave in plenty of time, which had the added benefit of making sure he didn't get cold feet at the last minute. He'd elected to wear a dark grey three-piece for the evening, topped with smart white shirt, red tie and black shoes, with the jacket slung over his shoulder. However, despite the immaculate condition of his attire, Sam knew it couldn't conceal the nerves that would be written onto his face like bold text. Of course he was nervous, why wouldn't he be? Even if it was just a bet, he was still taking out his executive officer, a dangerously attractive woman, to dinner, a rather daunting task for the uninitiated.
Nevertheless, Pearce did not have long to dwell on the thought, as he knocked on the door of his counterpart's dormitory. A hastily shouted 'one minute!' was his reply, coming through the woodwork slightly muffled. Almost by habit, Pearce nearly slipped into an at-ease position whilst he waited, as his thoughts were elsewhere, mostly dwelling on how he got to this point. Fortunately, the door flew open before he could lose himself entirely in his musings.
"Sorry I kept you waiting, I couldn't find where I'd left my shoes," Angela said, although Pearce was only half paying attention. He'd found himself entirely spellbound by Clark, who in his opinion looked absolutely stunning. Her hair had been pinned up at the back in a braided ring somewhat reminiscent of Darjeeling's and brushed to the side at the front, whilst a sparing use of makeup only enhanced her charming features. However for Pearce the most striking change was in Angela's wardrobe, as Clark had replaced her usual uniform with a simple forest green dress and a matching pair of shoes with relatively low heels. It was a simple touch of femininity, but it only added to the Wellesley XO's beauty in her counterpart's eyes.
"It's no problem at all," Pearce managed after only a slight pause. He had half been expecting Clark to chew him out over his staring at her, but noticed that she was fidgeting a little under his gaze. Was she nervous too? Sceptical that someone so confident could ever be nervous, he wrote it off as her having been in a rush to get ready. "It was hardly a wait, and apparently well worth it; you look lovely."
Clark coloured at the compliment, before offering an appraising glance in return. "Well you don't clean up too badly either. But you're definitely over-dressed," she said, snatching Pearce's jacket before he could protest and deftly throwing it onto the arm of a chair in her room, leaving him with his waistcoat over his shirt. "Much better. Well, shall we?"
"Of course," Pearce replied, stepping aside so Angela could lock her door. Once she had done so, the pair fell into step as they began the walk across the carrier to the Duke's Table. The sun, although setting rapidly, still lingered in the sky, giving the evening air a hint of warmth despite the early month of the year. Its waning glow was supplemented swiftly by the carrier's streetlights, illuminating the dark before the shadows could grow too long.
After a short silence, Angela spoke, fearing that she should lose her nerve were the quiet atmosphere to persist. "You know, you didn't do too badly in that sparring session earlier. A bit more innovation and some physical improvements and you might yet take that top spot away from Chloe."
"I think you over-estimate my chances," Pearce said, rubbing at a particularly sore bruise on his arm from that afternoon, mercifully hidden by his shirt sleeves. "You were knocking me around the hall like a tennis ball earlier, so I doubt I'll be on a level to beat either you or Chloe any time soon."
"You'll get there," Clark answered encouragingly, fidgeting with her dress again as she did so. Angela's attire for the evening had her a little out of her comfort zone, as she was more used to the uniform trousers and jacket of the academy than dresses and skirts, but she had decided to make the effort for the evening.
"Perhaps. I do have a good teacher after all."
"Flatterer."
"I prefer 'honest'."
"Whichever it is, I reckon you'll be more than a match for anyone on the tankery team sooner than you think. At least with a blade, I've got no idea about anything else."
"Considering that we have the academy judo champion, the boxing club number one and a large number of rugby and other sports players on the tankery team, I think I'd rather take my chances with a sword than without." Pearce said. He had no wish to try and engage much of his team in fisticuffs any time soon, as not only were most of them larger and heavier than he was, many of them were quite accomplished fighters too. Sarah, Hobart team's loader, was the academy judo champion, while Jake, Russell team's gunner, currently had a ten match undefeated run in the boxing club, and they were but the tip of the iceberg.
"When you put it that way…" Clark tailed off. Though most of the cadets were at least competent fighters, having had at least some instruction to that effect, some, many of her comrades included, were a cut above the rest. Even Angela, who was no slouch and at least passably acquainted with a few fighting styles, did not relish the idea of fighting some of the other tankery team members.
"Nevertheless, whatever my deficiencies in other martial disciplines, I still owe you a thank you for helping me in this particular one," Pearce said. "Bet or not, dinner is the least I can do for you."
"It's no problem," Angela replied nonchalantly, although she found the thanks quite gratifying.
There was scant time for further conversation as the pair arrived at their destination; The Duke's Table, its entrance ina relatively unremarkable building set away from the main area of the logistics hub. Upon opening the outer door, Clark and Pearce found themselves in an elevator, which spirited them up one floor and into an elegantly furnished hallway. At the end of the passage was a waiter, a roughly middle-aged man with combed black hair and attired in a well-cut dinner suit. He stood next to a lectern with a list mounted upon it, and behind him was a large oakwood door.
"Ah, good evening, sir, madam," the waiter greeted as they approached, his accent and elocution one of polite diffidence, which suited the image of the butler to a tee. "The name of your reservation please."
"Clark, for two," Angela responded. The waiter scanned down the list on the lectern with a swift glance, before marking one of the columns with a pen that seemingly materialised in his hand.
"Ah, Miss Clark. I believe your table has been prepared for you, do go in, one of my colleagues will seat you and your companion." He opened one of the oaken portals before stepping aside to allow the two cadets entry.
Stepping through the entryway into the restaurant proper, Clark and Pearce were greeted by an elegant décor reminiscent of a Georgian dining hall. White plastered walls were paired with a high vaulted ceiling, from which chandeliers offered the room a soft lighting, supplemented by further lights in wall brackets. The floor was wooden, but an array of plush carpets were positioned under each table and its accompanying chairs, which themselves were covered in deep red tablecloths. A large portrait of the academy's namesake duke hung above the hearth, mercifully empty given the already warm temperature of the room. The pair were given but a moment to take all of this in before a smartly dressed waitress addressed them.
"Right this way please, sir, madam, your table is ready."
Clark and Pearce were escorted past a number of other occupied tables including one, which Pearce absently noted, at which both their history and maths teachers were seated. Gratefully none of the other diners seemed interested in the pair being escorted through their midst, sparing the already slightly skittish cadets from further scrutiny. Eventually their waitress paused at a table, set for two, underneath one of the large windows on the room's flank, at which Angela and Sam seated themselves.
"I'll come back in a few minutes to take your orders." The waitress then departed, leaving the pair peering over the menu.
"I must say, it is quite lovely in here," Pearce commented, absently glancing round the restaurant to take in its full image.
"Have you never been in here before?" Angela enquired curiously. She was intrigued; Pearce was usually very private, or at least quiet, about his personal affairs, and this presented a rare opportunity for her to dig deeper into what made him tick.
"I've never had cause to, my social life is hardly what you would call active. I take it you have though?"
"A few times with the girls."
"You mean your crewmates?" Clark nodded.
"Yeah, and a few others. Not all of our group does tankery, so we try to meet up in our off-time. We usually come here once a term for a big catch-up."
"A commendable idea. I think I might have to adopt it myself," Pearce said.
"Stealing subordinate's ideas now? For shame, Pearce," Angela jested, feigning mock disappointment.
"Well, when a subordinate has a rare moment of genius, it is up to the commander to see that it is not squandered," the Wellesley CO replied, eyes twinkling in amusement.
"Cheeky git," Clark retorted, raising her menu to create a visual barrier between her and her dinner partner. The action, coupled with what seemed to be a brief scowl, worried Pearce that he had somehow offended her, so he said nought, even as the waitress came and went with their drinks and orders.
Eventually Angela broke the silence, sensing Pearce's unwillingness to broach conversation. "Okay, what's eating you? As quiet as you are, you'd normally have said something by now." Her eyes held genuine concern. "Tell me what's wrong," she said in a softer tone.
"Are you not angry with me?" Sam asked tentatively.
"No, why would I be? I'll be angry if you don't tell me what's got you all jittery."
"Well…."
"C'mon spit it out."
"I was worried that I'd upset you with that last comment," Pearce said, his cheeks stained red in embarrassment at the admission. He half-expected Angela to laugh in his face, but instead his XO looked back with a mix of confusion and happiness.
"Why would you think that upset me?" Clark asked. While her tone contained a note of carefully measured curiosity, inside she was secretly elated. If nothing else, it meant that he considered the two of them to be close enough to care about her, although the blush hinted at even more. "You obviously didn't mean it, and we've said worse to each other before. Plus, we're friends now, right?" Pearce nodded. "That means I can tell you if you've overstepped the mark, and you me. So don't worry yourself, and if you've got something to say, say it." Another nod.
Silence settled over the table for a short while, allowing the mood to settle back to a comfortable neutral, before Pearce spoke again.
"Apologies if I'm being presumptive Angela, but could I ask why you were so keen on being the captain of the tankery team at the start of the term?"
"Hmm? Probably the same reason you did; wanted to prove that I was the best at what I do, and what better way than being right at the top of the ladder," Angela answered, nonchalantly plucking a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table as she did so.
"May I ask why?"
"You know why, if either of us screws up, we're out of the academy. Your idiot parents and my prick of a father don't want us here, so we have to show them we deserve it."
"My parents don't want me here because they hate the military," Pearce said, "What possible reason could your father have?"
"He's a sexist twat who doesn't think I can make it in the army. Or anywhere for that matter," Angela said bluntly. It was hardly an exaggeration; Edward Clark believed that women could not make good soldiers, and he'd fought tooth and nail to try and prevent Angela from going to Wellesley, where it was highly probable she might continue into the army from. It was one of the few times her mother had defied him – she had sent off Angela's enrolment papers before Edward had come home, which had left him furious. "My mother is too timid to stand up to him, and she won't leave him either, even though he's awful for her, so I have to keep my grades up or they'll have me home in a flash."
"Ah," Pearce said, unsure of how to respond to what Angela had just said. "So I imagine part of the reason you push yourself so hard, aside from getting the grades, is to defy your father's expectations?"
"That, and I had the same treatment from some of the teachers at my secondary school. I hate being underestimated," Angela spat, clear venom in her tone. "That's why I work hard, and it's why I hated you as well."
"You… hated me?" Pearce choked out, looking crestfallen. A small, nagging voice at the back of his mind asked if she'd just been stringing him along this whole time. Angela felt a moment of panic as she realised what she'd just said, and saw Sam's face fall, but realised she couldn't take those words back.
"I did," she said, emphasising the past element of the phrase, before seeking out Pearce's eyes with her own. Green eyes met brown, the clear feeling in Angela's soothing Pearce's anxiety; her emerald orbs held no deception, only heartfelt concern. "But that was a long time ago, and a lot has changed. I used to see you as an obstacle preventing me reaching the top, you kept outdoing me and it just annoyed me no end. You seemed to take no joy in the top spot too, no celebration at what you'd achieved, and it frustrated me that no matter how hard I worked, I couldn't seem to beat you. In hindsight I probably should have realised you were in the same boat as me."
Angela's view of Pearce had always been a complicated dichotomy, albeit one that had shifted in recent months. As she'd just revealed, she had originally harboured an intense dislike of the diminutive cadet due to his seeming ability to excel in all academic fields, yet taking no pride in the achievement. But that had been steadily tempered by excitement, as her competition with Sam for all the top spots had given her drive above and beyond merely defying her father's views. After they were forced to work together, thereby becoming more well-acquainted with her self-appointed rival, Angela found her dislike of Pearce slipping away, as she found more common ground with him, and they shared intimate moments together, where Angela had begun to understand him even better. Comradeship had become friendship, and as she had spent more and more time in Pearce's company, Clark had felt increasingly drawn to him. The exact reasons for it were hard to place, but one of the most prominent was that Pearce had never lumbered her with expectations, but instead challenged her to better herself, rather than judging her for what she was.
"You had no way of knowing," Sam replied. "Just as I had no way of knowing why you were trying so hard to outdo me. All I can say is that I'm happy that you don't hate me anymore." His last sentence was a masterstroke of understatement, but Angela was not to know that. Instead she just smiled in return, pleased that it seemed Pearce had not taken offence to what she'd said.
"I know, but I still feel crap that I disliked you over something so petty." Angela was stumbling a little to find a way to articulate how she felt. She wasn't particularly experienced at heart-to-heart interactions, having cultivated a cold exterior in her determination to succeed, which left her a little deficient in expressing her feelings. Not that Pearce wasn't in the same boat, although he'd gotten a bit more practice recently. "I mean, hell, I don't know why you didn't hate me just as much, I was pretty awful back then, and…"
Clark was prevented from tailing off into inarticulate rambling as she felt Pearce's warm gaze settle on her, switching the position they'd been in before. He smiled at her, one of those benevolent half-smiles that, while still reserved, held no ulterior motive, and Angela's worries seemed to melt away. A glance into his eyes, a deep brown that seemed to pour forth feeling, found only care in his gaze. She could have stared into those for days.
"Please, you have no need to apologise," Pearce said. "We made our peace a long time ago, and I for one am glad for it. There is no need for us to dwell on what was, only to make the most of what we have now."
Angela raised her glass, clinking it against Pearce's. "I'll drink to that."
They left the serious conversation aside for a while as their dinner arrived, instead exchanging questions in an attempt to learn more about their opposite number. In between bites of the exquisitely prepared food the pair swapped anecdotes, which on more than one occasion had the other chuckling in mirth. Angela particularly found some of the stories Pearce told about his time in Japan with Erwin very amusing, although she couldn't help feel a bit jealous of how fondly he spoke of her. Some of it must have shown on her face though, as Pearce made sure to offer her a reassuring smile whenever her mood seemed to darken. He had no idea why, failing to make the connection between Angela's occasional looks of distaste and the mention of his old friend's name, but it seemed to make her happier, which contented him too.
The pair were just polishing off their puddings, in Angela's case a hefty portion of lemon drizzle cake, while Pearce had a sinfully large amount of sticky toffee pudding, when Pearce asked a question that had been residing at the back of his mind for a while.
"Angela, if you don't mind me asking, what is your ambition once we graduate from here?" He left the possibility that neither of them might graduate aside for the moment, not wishing to acknowledge it.
"Hmm?" Clark's jaw stopped mid-chew as she looked over at Pearce curiously. She finished with the piece of cake before replying, "What do you mean? Career, or more specific?"
"Start with career, then."
"I want to join the officer corps. I couldn't really tell you why, but since I was little I wanted to join the army, and now I'm here, so the OTC (Officer Training Corps) isn't too much of a jump."
"Any particular rank or branch? I could imagine someone with your drive attaining high rank someday," Pearce said. He did so not out of idle flattery, but because he could genuinely envisage such a thing occurring.
"I can't say I'm that bothered about what branch I go into, RAC (Royal Armoured Corps), Infantry, REME (Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers), any of them are fine, but now you mention rank…. I want to make field marshal."
Pearce nearly choked on his cake. "Not wishing to insult your intelligence, but you do realise that not only is Field Marshal the highest rank in the British army, but most of the people who hold it are royalty, correct?"
"And? You said yourself that I'm a pretty driven person, why not aim high? If nothing else, it means I go down swinging." Clark grinned. "Plus, that means that I'll definitely outrank you if you join the corps, and I'll get to boss you around."
Pearce smirked. "This of course presumes that I don't beat you to the rank."
"Get real Pearce, you can't be serious."
"Oh believe me, I am always serious."
The pair looked at each other in mock seriousness, each staring the other down in a contest of wills, until the sheer ridiculousness of the situation overwhelmed them, and both Sam and Angela burst out laughing. The giggling continued for a short while before the pair could regain their composure, Pearce absently noting how nice Angela's smile was, and resolving to make her do so more often.
After a few more minutes of playful banter, Pearce waved the waitress over and asked for the bill, receiving an amused smirk from Clark as he did so.
"Your wallet bracing itself for the coming storm?"
"Perhaps. My debit card seems to be wailing in terror, knowing that its end is nigh, to be sacrificed on the altar of my conceit," Pearce replied, riffing on the concept for melodramatic effect.
"All the more motivation for you then; if you get good then you might not find yourself losing bets like these."
"But then who would be your meal ticket?" Pearce asked sarcastically, prompting Clark to stick her tongue out in a mature response.
Once Pearce had paid for their meal (a surprisingly reasonable sum, if he were honest), the pair of cadets departed The Duke's Table. It had long since gone dark outside, and the warm evening sun had been replaced with the cold glow of streetlamps. There was a distinct nip in the air, though it wasn't quite cold, and the normal clamour of activity aboard the carrier had died down, leaving only the faint sounds of the sea, carried over the side of the titanic carrier. The two cadets said very little as they made their way home, but it was a comfortable silence, the pair merely content with each other's company as they reflected on the events of the evening.
For Wellesley's commander, all this evening had done was confirm what he had already suspected; that he'd fallen for his XO, hard. It was the only explanation as to how she was consistently able to get under his skin, why he fretted over everything he said to her, why there were butterflies in his stomach when she smiled. There were fears too, chief among them what would happen if they failed to win the tournament, but he quashed them swiftly. Tonight was not the time for fretting though, it was better to merely enjoy the moment, and a small smile graced Pearce's lips.
For Angela the situation was much the same, although where Pearce had merely confirmed his feelings for her, she had gauged the depth of what she felt for him, and been surprised at how deep those feelings ran. Every time she reran the evening in her mind, she noted the slight fluttering of her heart, and a hint of warmth in her cheeks. It was hard to deny what she felt, although harder still to know what her counterpart was thinking. Well, there were a few ways to find out….
Alighting at Angela's front door, Clark fished her keys out her bag and opened up, flicking the light on. However, before she entered, she spun to face Pearce, who was waiting patiently outside.
"You know, I really enjoyed tonight. Certainly the best bet I've won in a while."
"Definitely the best one I've ever lost too. Your company was wonderful this evening, and I might have to lose a few more bets so I can enjoy it more often."
"Perhaps you might even win some, then I can treat you," Angela replied, before adding in a demure tone, "Or maybe we could skip the bets altogether." Her heart leapt in her chest as she spoke, it was make or break time.
"I don't und-" Pearce's confused reply was cut off as Angela stepped in towards him and pressed a finger to his lips. She leant in close, her hair almost brushing against his temple.
"I meant like this," Angela whispered, kissing him softly on the cheek before stepping backwards and into her room, offering a caring smile. "I want your answer when I see you tomorrow. Goodnight, sweetheart."
It took a few minutes for Pearce's brain to reboot as he walked home. He pressed one hand to his cheek, where he could still feel the warm caress of her lips, and smiled gently, though inside his heart leapt for joy. He already knew what his answer was.
Chapter End
There we are, another chapter in this ever-growing tale. I'd like to thank you all for your patience with my slow updates, and I'd also especially like to thank Warmachine32 for his omake, and my beta-reader, who has been an absolute star and provided a ton of help.
Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, or didn't, or have any questions, kindly leave a review, or PM directly, I'm always eager to hear your feedback. I'm especially interested in hearing what you thought of the latter half of the chapter, I'm no romance writer, so I'd like to know what you think about the 'not-date'.
I can't promise when the next chapter will be up, I go away to start my masters in two weeks or so, and I'm probably going to be pretty busy, plus I'm trying to complete a prototype chapter for my new story idea. However, I can guarantee that there will be another chapter. At some point. Somewhere in the future. So until then,
HereticalShinigami
