Part 50 (2/2)

Reilly listened to the reports from the scouts: ”Scout Four . . . SitRep . . . fourteen tanks, moving east on the road . . . two groups . . . four tanks leading then ten more about four hundred meters after . . . dismounts riding on top . . . five or six, maybe seven, per.” ”Scout Two . . . same . . . just reaching the bend at Checkpoint Five.” ”Scout One, I make them at Checkpoint Four.”

So far, so good, he thought. Fourteen tanks with a gap of four hundred meters . . . mmm . . . call the column one point one klicks long. That'll fit in the kill zone. Why only fourteen though? There were supposed to be up to twenty-four. He called the TOC, back on the s.h.i.+p, to ask.

Boxers voice answered, ”When the UAV went over the lager there were ten still there, most with people working on them.”

”Roger.” Okay then, ten down for maintenance. Par for the course.

Then he heard, ”This is Scout Two. Two more tanks, no dismounts on top. A klick and a half behind the others.”

s.h.i.+t! How did the UAVs miss that? Two tanks a kilometer and a half behind would put them out of the kill zone when he initiated the ambush. He didn't want to face one tank in a fair fight, let alone two. There's a solution, but . . . man, that sucks.

”Scout one, Alpha Six,” Reilly sent.

”Scouts.” Snyder's voice sounded worried. Ah, he understands the problem, too.

”When we initiate, I need you to engage the follow-on tanks.”

There was a pause while Snyder formed a reply. That reply was, ”Are you out of your f.u.c.king mind? We've got machine guns. That's it.”

Reilly's voice stayed calm and firm. He understood perfectly well how Snyder felt. ”I know. I don't expect you to kill anything. I just want you to b.u.t.ton them up and make them think they're in the kill zone, too. And don't lose track of them when they roll off the road.”

The answer to that was long enough in coming. ”Wilco.” I will comply.

D-Day, MV Merciful Merciful

Boxer burst into the TOC and said, ”s.h.i.+t! We missed two tanks.”

”What are you talking about?” Stauer asked.

”The UAV pa.s.sed over the tank column a few miles from the lager. It couldn't count the tanks in the column but counted ten in the camp. So we figured fourteen tanks Reilly would have to face and continued on to the town. On the flight back the pilot swung over the lager again and counted eight. So he followed the road for a while and found the other two, few enough he could count them, racing to join the rest.”

”Will they catch up before Reilly's kill zone?”

”No. They'll still be out of it by the time Reilly has to engage.”

”Ah . . . f.u.c.k. Get me Reilly on the horn.”

D-Day, Rako-Dhuudo-Bandar Cisman highway, Ophir

”Yes, we identified the problem and I've got a handle on it, boss,” Reilly answered. ”Yes, it's a s.h.i.+tty, greasy, sloppy handle, but I've got a handle.”

Man, I hate being nagged.

Sergeant Abdan reported in, ”First tank entering the KZ.”

Reilly finished up, ”And I got to go now. Busy, doncha know. Send the dustoff our way, would you? We're probably going to need it.”

The radio spouted, ”Alpha Six, One-Six. First tank at Checkpoint Three . . . ”

Lana, wearing NVGs, watched the long steel snake slither through the kill zone with a mix of eagerness and fear. Some of the fear was for her life and health, true. More of it, though, was in the form of, Lord, G.o.d, don't let me fail.

In this she wasn't so very different from any of the others peering in at the sight of the ma.s.sacre they hoped to make.

Though she didn't have to whisper-the tanks made more noise than she could hope to-still she did. ”Gunner . . . eleven o'clock . . . gunner . . . ten o'clock . . . gunner . . . eleven o'clock.”

With each command, Viljoen deftly spun the traversing wheel that also held his firing b.u.t.ton. A certain tone crept into her voice, that same combination of fear for self and fear for self-image.

”Relax, Lana,” Viljoen said. ”It's . . . well, I won't say it's a piece of cake, but I will say you're as ready and as able as anyone I ever served with.”

”Well, thanks a lot, lover,” Dumisani piped in.

”I never served with you in combat, you black b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You were on the other side.” Viljoen hesitated for a moment; he wasn't normally the maudlin sort. Then he added, ”Dumi, if you were ever down range of my gun . . . I'm awfully glad I missed.”

”What are you talking about?” the Zulu said. ”You hit my tonsils every time.”

”a.s.shole!”

”And sometimes that, too.”

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