Sol: This was written originally for my English controlled assessment as a draft, which is why it's rather short. It has since been thoroughly fiddled with, but despite being ready to post in February, it had to wait until summer was over so nothing went strange with the marking or anything. (The exam board might have thought I plagiarised my own work, which could be really confusing.)

Star: I've had a little input, editing and generally poking about, but it's mostly Sol, like the short Harry Potter equivalent is mostly mine. That'll be up in a bit.

Sol: This got 18/20, so be proud of me! And review if you like it – the English teacher's comments were quite interesting, and I'd like to know what normal humans think. (Everyone knows that teachers don't count.)

Rating: K+, for the occasional 'rude' word.

Genre: Humour/Friendship

Disclaimer: They aren't real, we don't own them, and that really sucks!

Which Way to Berlin?

"Which way to Berlin?"

Murdock's voice echoed faintly down from the tank's open hatch. He reappeared, sliding feet-first into the belly of the huge vehicle.

"Lovely lady, pointed that way," said Murdock cheerily, whisking off his baseball cap to wave it in the direction they were already travelling. He dipped into a bow, flourishing the cap and announced, "You may now unfasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen; thank you for flying – er, falling – with Artillery Airways." He would probably have continued, but a growl from the corner cut him off.

"Can it fool, an' get me outta here so I can rip your damn fool head off!"

Murdock paused, straightened, and replaced his cap.

"Hey B.A.," he said, soothingly, as though talking to a wild animal, "I only fly the plane. We flew the tank this time, didn't we? We didn't crash, we didn't die, all's good, see? An' it'll be even better tonight, 'cause there's gonna be curry tape-"

"Don't you try to bribe me with no fool tapenade, fool! I know your game, an' I ain't no fool! Curry tapenade jus' ain't gonna cut it kid! An' Hannibal, why you let this fool fly us anywhere?"

"Hey hey hey! Best freakin' pilot in the whole US of A here! Tell him Facey!"

"I don't care if you're the best pilot in the goddamn universe, fool, YOU STILL AIN'T LET ME OUTTA THESE ROPES!"

Murdock backed away, but tripped in the confines of the tank, landing sprawled across the control panel. There was a familiar whirring sound, and a shadow passed over the hatch as the turret swivelled round. Hannibal sighed.

"You know HM, I think there's a reason you're the pilot. I couldn't imagine you doing well with anything requiring the slightest semblance of tact."

Murdock deployed the puppy-dog eyes at this, but Hannibal just raised his eyebrows. Face grinned almost evilly, and rolled Murdock off the panel, back towards his friend. He reached out carefully and began to untie B.A.'s bindings.

"You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, big fellah, so just hold still one itty bitty moment while I get these tiny winy safety lines off…"

The instant he was free, B.A. surged upwards, catching Murdock around the torso, driving them both to the floor.

"Argh!" screamed Murdock, at a pitch he would later deny using. Hannibal and Face watched in amusement as the pair wrestled and rolled their way around the floor. Hannibal lifted his gaze to meet Face's, and asked in an almost bored tone;

"Where'd you say we'd be sleeping tonight, L.T?"

Face hid a broad grin behind a hint of a smile, then turned to take a piece of paper from the pocket of his discarded jacket. He unfolded it and ran his eyes over the map, grateful for this evidence of backup planning; an unusual thing for anyone other than Hannibal to take part in.

"There's no name for the road," he started, "but it's the Ruatha Hotel, right by the ford, and looking at this –" he glanced over at the GPS beside Hannibal, "– it's hours away; we crashed earlier than we should have."

By now, B.A. had firmly pinned Murdock to the floor, but neither man was fighting anymore. Instead, they were listening to the others' conversation, B.A. absently scratching at his armpit while Murdock wrinkled his nose in mock disgust.

"What'll we do with this beautiful girly though?" whined Murdock, "If we leave her, she'll never fly again!" He reached out with his free hand to pat a cupboard door, which burst open to reveal an ornate and delicate china tea set (complete with Bambi-patterned mug for the lonely coffee-lover). Hannibal was distracted from driving long enough to stare into the cupboard and release a loud, hearty laugh. His reaction set the others off, and cheerful guffaws filled the tank.

When they subsided, all were left smiling, B.A. now sitting against Face's legs where the conman leaned against the control panel. Hannibal was chuckling, half-hidden from sight by the tall back of the driver's seat, and Murdock sprawled, gasping for breath on the floor, his bomber jacket open and his baseball cap dislodged over one eye. Hannibal pushed the throttle, and the tank trundled into the future.

Finis