A/N: It's guest review time!

Kunoichi69: Cassandra sure does like Catalina's artistic talent. I'm sure this wont be a problem down the line ;)

TurboDriver07: Oh, Valarie's bad luck about crabs has struck again :( Oh, and that pretzel festival had everything you can think a pretzel can do :)

TankNut ( Chapter 79 ): An iconic tank indeed! That Pretzel festival sure did have a lot of drama. I wonder where this will all lead up to ;)

Again, thanks to everyone who leaves reviews! This story has become the most reviewed GuP fanfic in the entire fandom and everyone has my neverending gratitude.

o7 Panzer Vor!

Monday September 23rd, 2013

"Alright, let me see if I understand this right," Gabrielle said, not quite fully comprehending what she was just told. On the other side of the desk in the garage's office stood Madison. "It's a musical about the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln?"

"Yep."

"Really..."

Gabrielle had a hand over her mouth as she thought about Madison's proposition. The girl, who at times she confused for Valarie, wanted the whole team to attend the play when it premieres Wednesday evening. Madison offered them all tickets to the front two rows to incentivize them to come, the best seats in the house. Really though, all of this was just a way for Valarie to go to the play, to share her passions with her sister.

"The whole affair is rather tasteful and so much fun. Though, I am biased as I'm managing the whole thing."

Gabrielle swiveled her chair toward Martin, who sat across the room to her right at another desk.

"It's your call," he said with a shrug. "Truthfully, I am curious to see how they could pull it off."

She refocused her attention on Madison, who had her hands behind her back and patiently awaiting a response. Gabrielle gave her the nod she wanted.

"Alright then, the team will have no meeting on Wednesday. Frankly, it'd be rather pointless as our tanks are going to be transported to the match area tomorrow. Heh, what the hell. Those kids could use a day off to do what they want before we all have to go to the match."

"Great! The tickets will be delivered to them in their first-period classes."

"And, I'm assuming we," Gabrielle referred to both herself and Martin. "Get some tickets too, hmm?"

"More tickets can always be printed. Expect them soon."

As business came to a close in the office, at the ground floor, business of another sort was about to go down. The shoulder patches that Heather designed have now gone from only existing on paper to now being able to be touched and felt. Prior to the start of today's meeting, Valarie received a box that contained the patches, ready to be sewn on people's uniforms.

At the T-44, Valarie opened the box with her crew, eager to get their hands on them. One patch was grabbed from the box and proudly presented.

"Beautiful," Emma remarked, grinning.

"Badass," Ashley said, grabbing the patch from Valarie's hand to admire it closer."

"This is definitely up there with the best things I've ever created," Heather said proudly. She couldn't resist a smirk.

"With these patches, we know have something that represents the whole team," Valarie said. Another patch was in her hand, her eyes soaking in every detail of it, from the bright red roses, the stems that coil around the shell, to the crosshair behind it all. "Something that we can all be proud to wear."

"Heather, can you stitch my patch on for me?" Emma asked, voice polite as she can manage without sounding artificial. "I'm no good with needles. I'll poke myself to death if I do it myself."

Heather could only answer with a half-nod before another request was sent her way.

"If you're already doing Emma's─" Ashley began to say, but the raising of Heather's finger silenced her.

"Fine, I'll do yours too."

"Heather..." Valarie then said, more than half embarrassed.

"Alright, alright," Heather sighed. She got three patches and stuffed them down her pockets. "I'll sew them all tonight."

The sound of nearing footsteps drew all of their attention. Paige and Eli were walking toward the T-44, with Eli having a paper with him. Heather guessed the reason why they were coming and rapidly closed the distance, startling them. Heather's talent with sewing and everything else fashion was well known among the team, so that must be the reason why Paige and Eli set out toward their tank. Heather was sure of it.

"No. No, no, no. I'm not sewing these damn patches for everybody. I can't be the only person who can sew! I just can't!"

"What are you talking about?" Paige asked, taken aback. She couldn't be more confused. "I didn't even know the patches were already here."

"We're here to show Valarie something," Eli explained. He waved the paper he had.

Heather felt a massive flood of blood rush into her cheeks, the heat radiating off like a blazing furnace.

"Oh...sorry. I assumed you were here for something else...excuse me."

Heather slinked to the T-44, climbed on top of the machine, and quickly disappeared into the turret. They all then heard the sound of a lock being engaged.

"Ashley, make sure Heather doesn't beat herself too much," Valarie asked.

"On it."

"Bet she didn't lock the driver's hatch."

"Nooope, she didn't!" Ashley exclaimed as she flung it open. "Time for the doctor to get to work."

As Ashley tended to Heather, Valarie resumed her attention to both Paige and Eli.

"Sorry about that. What's up?"

"Okay!" Paige said excitedly. "We got something to share about our tanks."

"You do, do you?"

"Yep!" Eli remarked. "You see, it's not actually a Panther II. It's really─"

"A Panther Mark. F with an 88mm cannon?" Valarie interrupted. "I've known it was since the thing first got here. The real Panther II had a different hull. You can tell from the roadwheels as they are much like the Tiger II. The whole Panther II project had standardized components from the Tiger II for ease of manufacturing. Also, your tank's turret, the Schmalturm, was never intended for the real Panther II as it was designed after the project was canceled. The Panther II project's designs and ideas would later be used for the E-50 in the Entwicklung series. You know, those Standardpanzers. It's a shame that those E-series tanks never got built, other than a partially constructed E-100 hull...but, thinking about it now, if those tanks were actually made, it would mean that the war lasted longer. It's best that it ended when it did."

Once Valarie had finished giving what was a mini-lecture, she noticed that the faces on both Paige and Eli were one of confoundment.

"You...knew for that long?" Paige asked incredulously. She failed to notice that her mouth was agape.

"MmmHmm," hummed Valarie. "I never said anything as your tank does meet the expectations of what a person thinks when they hear 'Panther II'. With the gun, turret, and IR equipment."

"Right..."

"That was what you two were going to tell me, yeah? Sorry for beating you to the punch...I got excited."

Eli looked at the paper he had. On it was a whole explanation of how their tank was a hybrid of a Panther Ausf. G's hull and the turret of an Ausf. F, not a pure Ausf. F that Valarie had explained, and they were inclined to believe that she was right. She tended to be right about everything when it came to tanks. The paper also had no mention at all about the Standardpanzers. Eli folded the paper and quickly shoved it into his pocket.

"Yeah...that was exactly what we were going to say," he muttered.

He masked his disappointment well as Valarie didn't pick up on it.

"Cool. Now, before you leave, let me pass out the patches to you guys."

When Paige and Eli got the patches, all sentiments of disappointment were expunged and in its place was joy.

"Oh! They look way better than I thought!" Paige exclaimed.

"By the way, we're still gonna call your tank the Panther II because you, me, and everyone else is already well used to it."

"We were never gonna stop."

"Alrighty. Take these patches to the rest of your crew. We'll pass out the rest."

"Gotcha."

As Paige and Eli departed and returned to their tank, Valarie motioned Emma to her, and the pair set out to get the rest of the shoulder patches to the rest of the team. Not every one of those patches was identical, as Valarie had asked for a portion of them to be unique. A certain amount of the patches had the title 'Inaugural' in red lettering along the bottom. These patches were given to the people that have been on the team since the very beginning.

Then there were four patches that stood out from the rest. It not only had the 'Inaugural' title on the bottom but also sported another along the top. These four special matches were handed only to the IS-3 crew.

"Primo equites," Ray read. The biggest smile creased his ace. Never before had he loved reading Latin this much. "Holy hell, this is fantastic!"

Valarie was in a deep blush. "I'd knew you'd love that. I bet you know what the Latin means."

"First Knights," he said without skipping a beat. "Though other translations also include 'First Horsemen' and 'First Cavalry'."

"Appropriate, isn't it?" You guys donated the IS-3 to the team, making it the first tank of our inventory. You four were our first tank crew. In my view, the Mojave Rose team didn't start when Mr. Redwood first approached Emma and me to join the team back in October. It began when you and your friends first found the IS-3 last summer."

It was Ray's turn to blush, and he bowed his head in appreciation.

"I'm glad to have met you, Valarie, and to become your friend."

"As I am Ray. It's a real, genuine shame that I'm a junior and you're a senior. You won't ever have the chance to be captain of the team before you graduate."

"Oh, boo-hoo," Ray mock cried. He rubbed his eyes for good measure. "I'll never get that promotion!" he then smiled at her. "I think I'll be okay, Val. Just being on this team is good enough for me. Being the vice-captain is the cherry on top."

"That's comforting to hear, Ray. It really is."

"You know," Ray said, shifting topics. "Next month will mark one whole year since the team officially started. Got any ideas to commemorate the upcoming anniversary?

"I've got some ideas. Can't let a day like that go by like it was some normal day. It'll be a celebration, there's no doubt about that. But that's next month. Let's focus on what's happening very soon...like the match, hmm?"

"RightRightRight. I can taste the salt already...and the lower percentage of oxygen in the air. Oh god, that's gonna suck."

Tuesday

"It started with a 'star' in the night sky that grew brighter and bigger with each passing day. No living thing on Earth knew what was coming, though nothing had the mental capacity of abstract thought to even comprehend that the strange light in the sky was the harbinger of their demise. A good thing, I guess, as there was nothing that could be done to stop the inevitable. Ignorance is b─"

"Aubrey, who are you talking to?"

"Oh, sorry," Aubrey said. "I tend to talk to myself when I read."

"It's cool," Savannah said, gunner of the Type 97. "What are you reading, by the way?"

"A book about the Chicxulub impact."

"Che..." Savannah began but quickly got tongue-tied. "How in the world do you pronounce that?

"Cheek-suh-loob," Aubrey sounded out. "It's a Mayan word."

"Chicxulub," Savanna repeated, getting the pronunciation mostly right. "That's a funny word. So, what's that impact?"

"Oh boooy," Aubrey uttered with the broadest smile. "Let me tell you all about it."

Catalina's library was where Aubrey and Savannah were during the lunch period. Though the school focused and was known for their talent in all things art, books on non-art subjects did have a place in the school's library, and that satiated Aubrey's interests just fine.

"Try to imagine an asteroid miles long, like the size of a city. An asteroid that traveled at a supersonic speed slammed into the planet's surface with the energy equivalent of nearly one trillion atomic bombs. Its effects were nothing short of cataclysmic; the fireball at the epicenter instantly vaporized anything alive for miles, megatsunamis with waves a mile high, magnitude nine earthquakes all over the globe, the air so superheated that forests were lit ablaze, wildfires raging like never before."

"This the rock that wiped out the dinosaurs, huh?"

"The non-avian dinosaurs," Aubrey specified. "Birds are dinosaurs. They evolved from those that survived armageddon."

"Oh yeah! I figured you love this kind of stuff. You do go one and one about dinosaurs and the eras they lived in. It's a lot more complex than I thought. I mean, three whole different eras of dinosaurs? I never knew that before."

"It's all super cool, but today I am not just reading about a mass extinction. I'm also getting inspiration."

"Is that so?"

"Yep," Aubrey set aside her book and whipped out her phone. She tapped away on the screen for a few moments before presenting it to Savannah. "What is this?"

"This a trick question or something?" Savannah asked suspiciously. "That's a Type 97 with the 120mm Short Gun."

"Right you are. Do you remember how Valarie told us how to use the thing?"

"I do. She told us to aim for things like the driver's vision ports and gun sights to take them out. To cripple them, pretty much."

Aubrey slowly nodded. "And that can be effective, but the thing is, a tactic like that means we have to rely on others to knock out what we shoot at."

"Only because our HE shells have piss poor penetration. Only super thinly armored tanks are ever gonna get knocked out by us, like those WW1-era tanks. But who'd ever roll out those trash cans in this level of competition?

"You're so right. The chances of us fighting a tank we can take out frontally is few and far between. But I got an idea that can improve our odds to immobilize things like Panzer IVs."

Savannah scoffed. "Panzer IVs might as well be Tigers to us. How can we ever take out a Panzer IV? A Sherman? A T-34?"

Aubrey leaned closer to her gunner and sported a smile. "We come down on them like an asteroid."

"...What?" Savannah wasn't following.

"With the maximum elevation of twenty degrees for our gun combined with a low projectile speed, our shells travel in a high arc. At the right range and elevation, a shell can fly in the air in a way that it lands on top of an enemy tank. Turret roofs are not known to be heavily armored. In some cases, even 12.7mm machine guns can penetrate. That's why tanks in real war are so vulnerable to air attacks."

"Ohhh! Gotcha! We can call it...Asteroid Attack! Eh? How does that sound?"

"Hmm, I like the alliteration."

"It's sorta my thing," Savannah grinned. "Hey, we attack from above. Why not below too?"

"Yes...yes!" Aubrey exclaimed. She totally forgot she was in a library. "We can put a delay on our shells and plant them the ground where a tank will be and...bam! It'll be like them hitting a mine."

"Right! So, we have Asteroid Attack. What do we call this strike from below thing?"

"Hmm," Aubrey was in deep thought as she brainstormed a catchy name. With the snap of her fingers, she had one at the ready. "The Down Under."

"Works for me."

The two girls felt both pleased and excited. Already did they fantasize about unleashing these attacks on enemy tanks and knocking out scores of them. They won't see it coming.

"We're gonna give it our best shot pulling these off at the next match, yeah?" Savannah asked. Though, a part of her already knew the answer.

"Totally! But, more importantly, let's not get immobilized? I mean, really, getting struck out in our very first match? That's a bit embarrassing. We'll be better. I just know it."

Later on into the evening, with the school day over, the Mojave Rose tankery team conducted what would be their last meeting before they were to leave for their match in Bolivia. Gabrielle announced early into the session that tomorrow's meeting was canceled and that they were free to do what they wish. For most, their plans for tomorrow evening were already set, the musical that was relentlessly advertised for the past few weeks.

Members of the team took the time to finalize preparations, mainly regarding their tanks, as they would be shipped out to the match area not long after the meeting today concluded. Though not everyone on the team focused solely on the preparations of their respective machines. For a few, their attention was on a machine that flew.

"Oh my god, just how much stuff are we bringing!?" wailed Lana. "I just thought it was just the plane and the briefcase that controlled it!"

"No, no, no!" Jacqueline rebutted with a finger wag. "There's a lot more to bring! Extra fuel, spare parts to do repairs if we have to, tools to perform said repairs, and then there's this," she held up a long metal pole that had appendages sticking out at the top. "This here radio transmitter."

"Whaaat!" Amber was stunned. "Why are we bringing that thing?"

"The transmitter makes long-range flight possible. I need it if we're gonna do aerial recon beyond a ten-kilometer range."

"Jackie, we can't bring all of this stuff with us on the bus to Bolivia along with our personal bags."

Jacqueline looked at the ground next to the SU-14-2, where all the necessities for the SR-71 drone were concentrated. Everything was packed tightly in bags containing spare parts for the aircraft, tools, spares for the tools, and spares for the spares. What couldn't be placed into bags were a few canisters of extra diesel and that radio transmitter. Then there was the controller briefcase that was as thick as it was heavy and the drone itself, in its long and bulky traveling case. She looked at this daunting collection of necessities and then shifted her gaze to their self-propelled gun.

"Put everything inside the SU. The fighting compartment has the room."

The rear door of the SU-14 was opened, and the crew got to work to store the SR-71 along with everything needed for flight operations. The interior of the artillery did have the space, but only barely. When they closed the rear door, the SU-14 crew breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"You girls got some packing something special, hmm?"

The group turned to see Claudia with a curious look on her face. The Churchill commander approached Jacqueline and her crew, her eyes maintained on the SU before resting on them.

"Yeah, an aerial drone," Jacqueline confirmed.

"Thought so," Claudia softly chuckled. "Man, I've seen you guys fly that thing around the past few practices, and god, do I love to hear the little whines of its engines. I knew the use of aerial drones was permitted in the internationals, but I never learned about the rules 'bout em. I bet it's a whole buncha' red tape where you have to contort yourself to follow them."

"Oh no, the rules concerning aerial drones are quite simple," Jacqueline clarified. "One, drones cannot be armed with any weapons on them where they can be used offensively. They must only be used for reconnaissance. Two, there is an altitude restriction of one hundred meters plus the height of any obstacle that may be in the area of engagement. The restriction must be obeyed at all times, and drones are not allowed to linger over tall obstacles. All of this is to give enemy tanks an opportunity to retaliate against recon drones. Fun fact about that height restriction, it's inspired by the FAA regulations about drones, specifically CFR 14 Part 107. I could go on, but by the look of your face, I can tell you're thrilled enough already."

"Yeeaaah, totally," Claudia remarked with heavy sarcasm. "But hey, if it gets you off, it gets you off. I'm not gonna judge."

"It doesn't─" Jacqueline nearly yelled but brought her voice down. She was in a blush. "Okay, look, I like reading about anything related to aircraft, even the rules for them...but I don't get that way when I do."

"Whatever you say...," Claudia smirked, which only caused Jacqueline to deepen her blush. That was enough toying with her. "Say, Jackie, I can only imagine what the adrenaline will feel when you bust that drone out, and the thing gets shot at. Especially since that thing is pricey. I can tell just by lookin' at it."

"That bird won't get a scratch on it," Jacqueline proclaimed. She looked proud. "No way am I gonna get shot down."

"Well, the fireball would look pretty cool...," Claudia remarked with some laughter, which petered out when she noticed a glare from Jacqueline. "What? Am I wrong?"

Jacqueline glared at her for another moment before sighing. "Yeah...maybe...kinda. Still, if that drone goes down, I will cry."

"Hey, I wouldn't blame ya. This sport has for sure made me upset more than once or twice. Though, instead of crying, I usually go on some swearing tantrum."

"Hmm. Well. I guess we all have our own ways to deal with our emotions."

As the SU-14 crew finished preparing their machine for transport, as did everyone else on the team. It was a song and dance that by now was well choreographed. Everything was accomplished before the five o'clock hour. All tanks had their full ammunition load, fuel topped off, and other necessities stowed away in storage bins.

Valarie had her face buried in the team's strategy for the match for nearly the entirety of the meeting. With a pen in hand, she reviewed the plan of action, though at this stage, with the match only days away, the only use of her pen were minor corrections here and there. The map of the battlefield was heavily marked-up by the work of her pen, and after a few more moments of review, she nodded to herself and snapped by playbook shut. Their strategy was ready for execution.

"So what's the outlook?" Ashley asked her from the loader's hatch. "What would you rate our chances of success?"

Valarie could only shrug at such a question. It made her uncomfortable thinking about such things as she felt that doing so would allow a mental environment where hubris can take root and spread like resilient, vicious weeds, and weeds can be utter hell to remove. One of Valarie's greatest fears was her going into a match with excessive confidence only to get whipped badly. A defeat of that magnitude was of the highest order.

"The strategy was made by me, along with considerable input by Ray and the other commanders on the team. It's the best we can do, and that's all I'm going to say about it."

"God, is it too hard for you to say, 'I think we might win this'?"

Valarie looked Ashley right into the eyes with a stone face. "Yes, Ashley. It is."

"Okay, okay. You do you," Ashley sensed if she kept propping Valarie on this topic, it'd be like her going over the top to run the gauntlet that was no man's land. She wouldn't last long. "I'm sure the plan is good and that the only thing you want from all of us is our best."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

"Right, ah," Ashley gave her face a quick scratch. "Anyway...We're about done here. Everything's ready to be shipped out."

Valarie stood up from where she sat and gave the garage a quick look around.

"Looks like everyone else is too."

"Good. That means we're almost outta here."

"And we're now less than twenty-four hours away from seeing you perform on a piano." A grin appeared on Valarie's face.

Ashley wanted to crawl into a deep, dark hole. "Goddamn...the things I do."

Wednesday

The day that people were waiting for, with one, in particular, dreading it, had arrived. Catalina's musical was set to premiere in one hour, and people were hyped. At their apartment, Emma and Valarie were in the middle of making one of the most agonizing choices any girl or any person really could make. Choosing what to wear.

"Our school uniforms won't cut it, right?" Emma asked.

Valarie hummed a no. "This is definitely a formal gig. Besides, Ashley is all dressed up, so can we. That solidarity, you know?"

"Fair enough. So, what do you think of this?" Emma held up a frilly black blouse that had a bow around the chest area.

"Mmm, it's black through and through," Valarie noted. "I'll feel we'd be going to a funeral if I wore that."

"Good point, ah, let's see," Emma went to the closet and spent close to a minute rummaging through it. She came back holding a red trench coat dress that made Valarie's eyes glow like finely polished emeralds.

"Wow! I didn't even know I had that."

"Ha, not surprising," Emma laughed. "It was part of your belated birthday gift that Madison got you with me helping out. You got so many clothes that it's no wonder that there are things you haven't seen before."

"God, I'm in love with it."

"I did spot another dress just like it, this one being white."

Valarie needn't had to make any sort as response as the enthusiasm on her face was the approval Emma hoped for. In a matter of moments, the pair slipped out of their casual clothing and eagerly donned the coat dresses, Valarie in red, Emma in white. At the door, ready to leave, the two gave each other loving looks, their eyes going over each detail on the other's body.

"We look good, don't we?" Emma remarked.

"Not good. Gorgeous." Valarie said with vigor.

Valarie surprised a delighted Emma with a kiss, and with that, the pair was off to the campus theater, hands held firmly together. They treated an evening at the theater as a date and a fancy one that that. The couple, after flashing their tickets, arrived with ten minutes to showtime. The auditorium was entered and, as expected, was packed, and more people were still trickling in and finding their seats. The front two rows of the theater were reserved for the Mojave Rose tankery team, and Valarie, and no doubt Madison as well, was pleased to see most of it filled with familiar faces. Valarie's and Emma's seat was on the second row, but before the pair could sit down, Heather saw them and rushed over.

"Yes! You're here early enough to see Ashley's get-up. Oh my god, you just have to see it!" Heather's eagerness was a level not seen before by Valarie or Emma, or her own parents for that matter. Infected by her high energy, Valarie and Emma were led by Heather backstage, passing by a whole heap of actors and actresses in costume. Their concentration totally focused on tonight's imminent event rather than paying any mind t the two play attendees now in their midst. Heather drove a wedge through the crowd to get to Ashley. At least a girl she insisted was Ashley despite both Valarie and Emma not initially believing it. But it was Ashley, and the girl went pale upon seeing her friends sprinting toward her.

"Heather. You totally did not just do this!"

"They had to see you before the show. Up close to admire every little detail."

"Ugh!" Ashley groaned. "There's nothing to admire here."

Ashley's costume was nothing like Emma and Valarie had ever seen the girl wear before. It was a dress. A full-on proper blue-and-white polka dot dress. It went from her neck where it widened down to entirely obscure her feet and touched the floor. The sleeves reached her wrists all the way, but her hands weren't exposed as they were covered with fancy white gloves. Her nose ring was gone, removed, and stowed away. Then there was the wig, which was the source of Ashley's ire. The wig was black, matching her natural color, with the sides of it done in curls. In all, she looked like a respectable young woman from 1865.

"Ashley, wow!" Valarie exclaimed as she clasped her hands together with excitement. "You look wonderful!"

Ashley mumbled a near inaudible 'thanks'.

"You clean up real good," Emma noted. She was about to whip out her phone to snap a photo, but Ashley saw her hand move toward her coat pocket and shot her a look, which put a stop to that.

"If this is being clean, I'd rather be dirty," Ashley uttered with a sigh. She stared down at the wooden floorboards.

"Well, Ashley, take solace in the fact that people's attention will be on the players on the stage and not at the musician's pulpit," Heather comforted. She grabbed her hands and pulled her up nice and close to her, Heather's hands wrapped around Ashley's lower back. "No matter what you wear, you'll always be lovely to me."

Ashley could never stifle the blush that swept across her face. "Oh, don't make me flustered right before the show!"

"Oh, hey!" shouted a voice from behind.

Madison, as she did her rounds, spotted the group and headed right on over. She was in her school uniform though it looked quite ragged and wrinkly. She's been wearing it all day and worked on the play just as long. The weariness on her face was unmistakable, but when it came to plays, she was near indefatigable. Madison wore a headset so that she was kept up-to-date with every little thing about the play.

"I'm glad you guys came," Madison said with appreciation. "You're not going to regret it."

"Of course we'd come," Valarie replied with a warm, gentle smile. "What's special to you is special to me."

Before Madison could get all emotional, a voice sounded in her ear, and she pointed at all of them. "Two minutes! Everyone to their places. C'mon, let's get a move on!"

With her work done for today, Heather joined Valarie and Emma on the second row of seats in the theater, and they all get settled in for the show. The auditorium was now at capacity, with each and every seat occupied by well-dressed people. The attendees were mainly composed of students, but some adults were mixed in as well. Valarie couldn't help but be amazed as she looked around to get a feel for the audience. A play at Mojave Rose wouldn't have people show up all fancy-like.

The musicians, with Ashley among them, got into their places at the pulpit and readied their instruments. The dimming of the lights was a signal to all quiet down. A flurry of shushes was sounded off as all conversation died down and silence reigned—all except for someone going into a coughing fit right behind Valarie's seat.

"Oh, great," she mumbled in her thoughts and sank slightly into her chair. "A cougher."

She didn't dwell on the cougher for long as the stage lights switched and focused their beams on the large red curtains. On cue, the pulpit began to play the score. It started with a melancholy piano piece that filled the auditorium, helped by the fact that a microphone was pointed right at it. It was a tune that made those in attendance feel dispirited. Once the mood was set, the curtains opened to the first scene of the play. The stage was decorated to be like a formal office. At the center was a table with seven actors dressed in suits that matched the period. In the middle sat a taller actor who had makeup done to make him look astonishingly close to Lincoln. Skin wrinkles and all.

"The casualties of Sailor's Creek has been finalized," one of the actors spoke, which Valarie gathered to be playing the part of a member of Lincoln's cabinet. "Generals Wright and Sheridan made the rebels shed scores more blood than they could make spill of ours. They even captured one of the rebel generals, a man by the name of Richard Ewell."

"Robbing Lee of a general hurts him absolutely," another cabinet member spoke. "Pray that his heart aches as much as when he lost Stonewall."

"Where is Lee now?" spoke a third member, his voice of agitation. "What are the whereabouts of him and his army?"

"From General Grant's latest dispatch, he reports that he is pursuing Lee west of Sailor Creek. He anticipates a clash soon."

"I pray to God that Lee does not mimic Thermopylae," a fourth member hoped. He had his hands together in reverence. "His army numbers half a hundred thousand, and it would be the travesty of travesties for his soldiers to fight to the last man."

"Shiloh. Antietam. Cold Harbor. Enough blood has been spilled these past five, long, arduous years that you could wade through," said a fifth. "An ugly imagination, I must admit. The end of this war must be as bloodless as it can be. How many more women are to be widowed and children orphaned?"

"Let's shift the agenda, gentlemen, and elaborate further on how we ought to deal with the South once the war comes to a close."

"The answer cannot be any clearer," proclaimed the sixth. "Arrest Jefferson Davis and try him along with all other prominent secessionists for high treason against the United States. Once they're convicted, and they will do, they'll all be hanged and rightly so."

"Damn it all, executions will not send us down the right direction!" shouted a cabinet member, whose echo reverbed throughout the theater. "Of course, the secessionists will be punished, but none shall be sent to the gallows!"

"Anyone who commits treason against the United States should be executed! Serious threats need to be treated as such. Where is your sense of justice?!"

"Damn it, man! You have an insatiable bloodlust! Have you not any shame?"

The member slammed his fist on the table. "This is slander!"

The President's cabinet devolved into a cacophony of arguments, insults, and general harsh noises. In the middle of this, the actor playing Lincoln hasn't said a word, nor has he moved much at all, only remaining in a contemplative pose, hand on chin, and leaned slightly on the table. For a moment, it appeared that the arguing was going to last forever. Perhaps even the entirety of the play. Just six young men yelling at each other with a somber piano piece playing in the background. Then, an eighth actor came on the stage, and the moment he appeared, both the yells and the music came to a halt. This fresh arrival looked out of breath, his body visibly heaving, and had an envelope in his hand.

"New...dispatch from...Gen Grant," he managed to blurt out amid breaths.

The cabinet member closest to him, overcome with a hunger for new information, snatched the envelope from his hand and tore it open all in one action. The message within was read, and with every word did a grand ol' smile crease his face. He turned to proudly face his compatriots.

"Gentlemen!" he exclaimed with unimaginable zeal. "Five years ago, the Charleston Mercury reported the secession of South Carolina. On its front page, it informed the nation in gargantuan lettering that the 'Union is dissolved'! Now, I am pleased to inform all of you," he held up the message like a trophy. "That General Lee has surrendered, and his army disbanded. The Union has been preserved!"

All the cabinet members erupted into hearty cheers. All save for Lincoln, who reacted to the news with a modest smile. His cabinet soon settled down, and all looked toward the President. He stood up and let his tall stature be known. He let out a breath that he felt he held in for five, long years.

"With the arrival of this news, it is like a tremendous weight has been lifted from my soul, a feeling that I'm positive will repeat itself when the surrender becomes widely known. It's easier to breathe, and the stress placed upon me already fleeting. More Confederate armies will surrender when they hear about Lee. The reconstruction of this country can now finally begin."

From what Valarie and Emma had seen so far, the play was incredibly enjoyable. There were highs that got smiles, chuckles, and even some bouts of lively laughter from the audience, medium moments that mainly served to advance the plot, and low moments that pulled on people's heartstrings. Madison was right on the money when she said that being here wouldn't be a regret. Though, Valarie had no doubts.

After a brief intermission, the audience returned to their seats, and to Valarie's relief, the cougher, who hasn't stopped trying to remove their lungs from their body, wasn't behind her anymore. Relief gave way to focus as the curtains rolled back as the orchestra resumed their performance, playing yet another tune of gloom. The curtains revealed a union soldier sat upon a tree stump. His face darkened from the clouds of rifle fire, his left arm bandaged covered with bloodstains, some he wasn't sure if it was his own. He was rough for wear for sure but was better off than the men behind him. They were all lined up in a row with white blankets covering each one. The soldier rose and walked along the row of the dead and gave half-hearted points to each corpse he walked past.

"A father...a husband...a friend," he then pointed to three blanket-covered bodies in particulars. "Three brothers. My brothers. We all marched together from our home in Vermont. We hoped to march right back when the war was over...didn't end soon enough for them."

The actor did a slow turn to face the audience. The music became gloomier, and the stage lights focused on him.

Too many eyes have I've seen go hazy.

Scores and men of boys viciously slain.

Now laid on this field, where they feel no more pain.

All because of this war that was nothing short of crazy.

A consolation, I think, is that their graves will be topped with daises.

But their deaths shall not be in vain.

As long as peace does reign.

And forever this scourge vanquished, named slavery

A victory I can't share with my brothers.

A dreadful loss that I abhor.

Now I'm off to march some more.

To go back home and see my mother.

She lost three sons but from what I've seen in this war.

I fear that she lost all four.

The lights on the soldier faded away, and the curtains came to a close. Another intermission began, the last one before the final act.

Two hours after the play began, the end was now on the horizon. The finale had begun, and the stage was set in a manner that was familiar to all. President Lincoln with his wife, Mary, sat together in a theater box. Everyone knew what was coming, but it did not mean that the apprehension in the air was any less dampened.

The Lincolns were situated at the center of the stage, watching a performance that was out of the audience's view to their left. There was indeed another performance happening out of eyeshot. Basically, for a period of time, Catalina was doing two plays at once. One, about Lincoln's assassination, and the other, the one he was watching right up to his demise. The orchestra started the scene with cheery, celebratory music that steadily transformed into pure tension that was distilled throughout the large room.

The stage lights dimmed once more, and one focused on a new arrival on the stage──Booth. The assassin moved with a wicked calmness as he approached Lincoln, totally unaware that he was on the final page of his life and he was not the writer. Booth reached into his coat pocket and revealed his derringer pistol to the audience, the weapon loaded and already cocked. He fully extended his right arm and aimed precisely behind Lincoln's head. Booth's aim wasn't shaky, no, it was perfectly still. For what he was about to do, he was sure of. As in his mind, he was doing the right thing.

Every light in the auditorium grew muted, and when the large room was completed shrouded in pitch-black darkness, silence fell. The apprehension in the room rose like a rocket when then...bang. A flash on the stage was seen, and there were screams, both from the actress playing Mary and from those in the audience who genuinely thought a gun was fired. People in the theater that knew their stuff calmed people around them by saying it was just a blank and a loud one at that.

The stage lights flipped on for the last time for tonight, and the stage was filled with every actor and actress that walked upon it. All the players were in a neat row and bowed, where they were showered with well-deserved applause.

Thursday

Last night's festivities was great entertainment for those that had the pleasure to witness it. For those on the Mojave Rose team that attended, they had nothing but praise, and some even had their minds change over how good a musical can be. There was little doubt that the musical will dominate topics of conversation as the team prepares to set out to Bolivian salt flats. Though their match was still a few days away, they had to leave early to allow their bodies to acclimate to the increasing altitude.

The team had gotten so large that two buses were now required to shuttle them around. The vehicles were parked in front of the apartment complex, and a majority of the team had already boarded. Even at half-past six o'clock in the morning, the atmosphere within the buses was like a party, just the way people liked it.

Outside, Martin and Gabrielle watched as more members stored their bags in the cargo hold and promptly boarded the bus.

"That's nearly everyone," Martin noted. "It's a shame that you won't be coming, though the reason why is understandable."

"Yeaaah," Gabrielle said, drawn out. She cradled her stomach. "I'm not taking any chances, though I wouldn't miss seeing you guys off for the world."

The couple shared a quick kiss.

"Alright, who are our stragglers?" Gabrielle chuckled. "Who's not here yet?"

"I'll check." Martin went to the forward bus and gave it a quick check before disembarking and going to the other. He returned to Gabrielle with the most quizzical expression. "You're not going to believe this, but Valarie and Emma aren't on either bus."

"...What?" Gabrielle was shocked. It took a moment before she found the words. "Where are they?"

The double doors of the apartment complex flung open, and out came Emma, sprinting towards them. She grabbed Gabrielle by the arm and began to pull her toward the building.

"Emma, what are you doing?" she demanded, but she did not resist being led. "What is going on?"

"It's about Valarie!" Emma nearly cried. "She won't listen to me. You have to talk to her."

"About what?"

Emma stopped and looked right up at Gabrielle. She was completely and utterly distraught and on the verge of tears. "She got sick."

"No..."

Gabrielle rushed forward, with Emma following right behind. The pair entered the building and moved quickly as they could to Valarie's apartment unit, but before they could open the door, it opened from within. At the doorway was Valarie, and by god, did she look awful. Her face was pale, almost a ghostly white. She was breathing through her mouth as her nostrils were totally stuffed. Her chest, head, and other muscles in her body ached something fierce. She was so weak that she had to lean against the doorframe to stand. She shook involuntarily from chills.

"Mrs. Redwood...," Valarie said hoarsely. Her throat was hell. "I was...I was just heading out."

"Valarie!" Emma cried. "You're sick. You can't go!"

"Damn it, I told you before," Valarie mustered all her strength to stand up without support. "I'm going. This...this is nothing..."

"Nothing?" Gabrielle scoffed. "Valarie, you look like shit," she had no qualms about being vulgar around students, especially those she considered friends. "I'm so sorry that I have to do this to you. You're staying home."

"No, Mrs. Redwood──"

"This is not up for debate. You are staying to rest and recover. We can't jeopardize the team's health. If you came, the bus you'd ride on would become a plague wagon. Half the team would be knocked out before they even reach the Bolivian border."

Valarie slumped against the door, her head tilted downwards where her hair covered her eyes. Gabrielle and Emma heard her sob.

"Don't...don't do this to me. This sport...means everything..."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Gabrielle was halfway to tearing up herself. "But I can't in good conscience let you go. The weight of command, along with being sick, is way too much."

Valarie remained where she was for a few long, tense moments. Her breathing, so labored, was all that they heard.

"Valarie...please stay," Emma pleaded.

Valarie clenched a fist and held it so tensely that it shook before she used every ounce of her sapped energy to punch the door. "Fine. FineFineFine! I'll stay goddamnit!"

She retreated into her apartment before the others could utter a word. Valarie came back with her playbook and handed it to Emma.

"The strategy is in there, so give it to Ray. He's in command. Tell Ashley she's the interim commander of the T-44."

"Oh...okay...," Emma tried and failed to hide her disappointment. Valarie, despite her head feeling like it was being hit by a jackhammer, sprang into action.

"Emma, my sunshine, don't take this as some vote of confidence. You'd be a good commander. A great one, even. But a commander who's also a gunner is no good at either. You need to focus on your shooting and only that. Be that sharpshooter that I love."

Emma let the tears flow and had to resist every temptation in her soul to not kiss her girlfriend.

"G-gotcha! We won't let you down!"

"If you try your best, you never can."

Emma held the playbook close to her chest. She and Valarie exchanged one final look, a goodbye better than any words could convey. They mimicked kisses with her lips, and Emma, with some hesitation, left for the exit along with Gabrielle.

Valarie entered her apartment and closed the door behind her. She went to her bedroom and closed all the window blinds to encase her space in shadow. She collapsed into her bed, face buried deep into a pillow where she cried, and cried, and cried. The one thing she loved to do. The one thing she lived for. The one thing she believed she was put on this Earth for.

Denied.