As the last period of play started, the British team was surprised to see Hitch come forward to meet Hooper for the kick-off, rather than one of his English teammates. Meeting his opponent's gaze, the American shrugged.

"Figured it was my turn," he explained with a grin. Hooper frowned suspiciously; but when the signal was given to start play, Hitch stepped out of his way and let him pass. He let Hooper's teammates pass him as well, and turned to watch, backing toward the British goal as he did.

Spencer dashed forward to intercept Hooper's drive, and Hooper turned away slightly to protect the ball – and collided with Jack Moffitt, who somehow managed to kick the ball toward his own goal in the process. Tully stepped forward to pick up the ball, and Spencer joined Hitch in sprinting down field as the Kentuckian booted it toward the suddenly under-defended British goal. Spencer took control of the ball and started for the right side of the goal, and Hitch headed for the left.

The British goalkeeper was startled by this turn of events, and angled over to meet Spencer's advance. He was never sure, later, at what point the ball suddenly leaped over into Hitch's possession and then into the goal, well out of his reach.

Tully and Moffitt were cheering from down field, and Troy was applauding from the sidelines, as were most of the spectators; the British team stared, in various stages of shock, although Hooper at least was shaking his head and chuckling slightly at being so thoroughly caught out. As the goalkeeper recovered the ball, Hitch and Spencer started back toward their own goal to continue the game, clapping each other on the back as they met up in midfield.

"Well done, lad!" Spencer crowed in delight.

Hitch grinned. "Sarge can plan just about anything! Too bad it won't work twice."

"Maybe they won't expect us to use it twice," Spencer suggested, though he didn't think they could get away with it again either.

The ball continued to move up and down the field for the next several minutes, with no one managing to score, although there were a number of near misses. As they entered the final seconds of play, The Brits made another attempt at the goal, and everyone began the run to the other end of the field, preparing for Tully to launch the ball again.

Moffitt took control of the ball and shot a look in Spencer's direction. Spencer, closer to the goal and covered by one man, rather than the two on Moffitt, nodded, and Moffitt passed it his way. Spencer looked for Hitch and found him opposite the goal, with no one but the goalkeeper defending. Maybe it could work twice …

Seeing Spencer glance his way and anticipating what was coming, Hitch drew a deep breath and looked around. If he could make this shot, the score would be tied. Is there overtime in soccer? He could see that Turner, who had been covering Moffitt, had realized the danger and was headed his way to intercept as Spencer passed the ball. Hitch stepped forward to meet it, saw Turner dive in front of him, and then saw stars.

Michael Warren blew his whistle frantically as he ran toward the two fallen players, and Spencer and Moffitt dashed over as well. Turner extricated himself from the pile and stumbled away as some of the crowd booed in protest. Hitch's teammates reached him as he began to sit up.

"Steady there," Spencer murmured, as he took one elbow and Moffitt caught the other. "Just give yourself a moment."

"Whad habbent?" Hitch gasped, wiping blood from his nose.

"He elbowed you in the face," Moffitt replied in disgust. "Are you all right?"

"Dink so. I was wide oben for dat shot, doo."

"Well, he remembers where he is," Spencer said wryly to Moffitt. "Always a good sign."

Warren leaned over them from behind and offered a clean handkerchief from his own pocket. "Here you are, son."

"Dank you, sir," Hitch replied, pressing the cloth to his face and tilting his head back slightly.

"Nasty business, that," Warren observed sympathetically. "I've removed that lout from the game, and we have just enough time for a penalty kick. Are you up to it?"

Before Hitch could reply, Tully arrived from his post at the other goal to see what was going on. Seeing that his friend was relatively unhurt, Tully grinned and shook his head. "Hitch, only you would try to stop the other guy with your face."

The youngest Rat shot him a halfhearted glare, the effect being spoiled somewhat by the presence of the handkerchief, then looked back to Warren. "Is someone else allowed to dake the penalty kick for me?"

"I believe so, under the circumstances; camp rules are fairly flexible for injuries." Seeing that the four young men before him needed a moment to make the decision, Warren straightened and looked around. "Look, lads, I need to speak with the timekeeper a moment. I'll be right back."

Moffitt and Tully were somewhat alarmed; it wasn't like Hitch to let such a minor injury hold him down. Perhaps he was hurt more severely than they could see.

"Hitch are you sure you're all right?" Moffitt asked.

"Yeah, I'll live. I wad a little dizzy ad first, but it's passed now."

Now Spencer was concerned. "Are you nauseous at all?"

"Easy, there, Medic," Hitch said with a small smile. "I'b had a concussion before, and dis isn't one. On the other hand, if you or Sarge had to dake the shot for me, dat could only be a good thing, right? I haben't made a penalty shot all day."

The other three glanced among themselves, and Moffitt looked over his shoulder at the British team, who had located a substitute for Turner and were conversing quietly by their goal. "Well, men, shall we try it?"

"Can't hurt," Tully said.

"I agree," Spencer added. "Would you like to do the honors, Sergeant, or shall I?"

It was Moffitt that they sent out to make the penalty kick, again hoping that his height might make a difference, particularly since Turner's replacement was about Spencer's size. The others drew off to one side as the British goalkeeper moved to the corner of the goal closest to Moffitt, and the other Brits tried to form a wall between the ball and the goal with their bodies. Moffitt, for his part, was trying to remember everything he had ever learned as a boy about penalty kicking, and wasn't coming up with much. Around the end, over their heads - maybe if he had a jeep… Glancing to the sideline, he saw Troy under his familiar bush hat, arms folded across his chest, tensely watching the last few seconds of this game in which he claimed no interest.

Signaling Warren that he was ready, Moffitt drew himself up to his full height and lined up to kick the ball around the end of the British line closest to the goal. As he took two quick steps forward to kick, the goalkeeper and the line of men shifted that direction, then tried to shift back as the ball sailed over their heads instead. The goalkeeper scrambled and managed to get his fingertips on the ball, but it slipped past him between the goal markers as the timekeeper signaled the end of regular play.

Moffitt was instantly mobbed by his overjoyed American teammates and a somewhat more sedate Spencer. Laughing with the simple relief of having made the shot, he shook them off and looked around for Warren, saying to the others, "I suppose we negotiate the terms of the tie-breaker now."

Tully and the now somewhat-bruised Hitch deflated visibly at that; as tired as they were of this, it wasn't over.

Warren was approaching from one direction, and Hooper, now acting leader of the British contingent and flanked by his teammates, jogged up from the other.

"Well, lads," the chaplain began, "Shall we take another break, then play a ten minute period or until one team scores?"

"Just a moment," Hooper interjected. "The lads and I talked it over before the penalty kick, and if you'll agree, we'd like to stop here with the tie and call it even. You played a good game, and we'll buy the first round."

The three Rats and Spencer looked at each other, and Tully broke the silence with, "Anytime someone else is buying, I agree with anything he says."

The two Englishmen nodded as well; but then all eyes turned to Hitch. "What do you say, Hitch?" Moffitt prompted. "And we'll buy the second round?"

"Sure," Hitch said, with only the slightest hint of nasal congestion in his tone now that the bleeding had stopped, "since the original argument was partly my fault anyway." Tully elbowed him, and Spencer cleared his throat discreetly. "Okay, at least half my fault. So I'll buy the third round myself."

At the resulting grins, Warren ventured, "I take it we've reached an agreement, then." Stepping back from the little group at midfield, he raised his hands to get the attention of the spectators. As the noise died down, he began speaking in his best "be-heard-in-the-back-pew" voice.

"If I could have your attention: The two teams have talked it over and decided to forego a tie-breaker, and to shake hands and part friends. The match is ended with a score of two each."

The reaction from the crowd was mostly positive, although many of those who had placed wagers on the game voiced their disappointment in the outcome. The spectators slowly dispersed, and Troy joined his fellow Rats and Spencer as they crossed the field with their new friends on the way to seek out the nearest beer. Matching Hitch's stride, he managed to draw the younger man slightly away from the others.

"So," Troy said after a moment, "Was it worth it?"

Hitch sighed. "I guess not."

Troy was glad to see the younger man's face turning red – where it wasn't turning black and blue, anyway. Maybe they'd gotten something out of this after all; maybe Hitch would think twice before letting his temper get away from him, dragging his friends into messes they'd rather avoid.

"But –" the younger man began with a sly smile, and Troy braced himself, "I did get to learn how to play soccer. And we made some new friends," he indicated their former opponents, "and I didn't have much else to do for three days, stuck in camp like we were."

Troy considered slapping the kid with his bush hat, but settled for giving him a shove back toward the others instead.