the town could turn into a disaster.
There's not a lot of difference it makes to us, Carrera thought, with a mental shrug. And it's not like I can affect it one way or the other.
He turned his attention away from the map that showed events he could do nothing about and towards the local map that detailed the actions of his own force. There, things appeared to be going pretty smoothly. Third and Fourth Cohorts were holding position. First, Second, Fifth and Sixth were either in or moving to their jump off positions south of the town.
And, he thought, since there isn't a whole hell of a lot I can do here, I may as well go forward and at least see the action and be seen.
'Mitch, Soult; grab your radios. We're going up to see First Cohort move in.'
Assembly Area Principe Eugenio
Corporal Cruz, PFC Sanchez, and the two new men just arrived a few days prior, Robles-younger brother to the Cazador sergeant strangled on Hill 1647-and Correa, got as low and as forward into shelter as the shallow trench permitted.
'Any time now,' Cruz said, after consulting his watch. 'Any time n-.'
To the east, the sky lit up as one aerially delivered bomb after another slammed in, disintegrating buildings and the men those buildings contained. Cruz and the other three, even at this distance, were buffeted and shaken by the bombardment. Bits of hot metal, some of them substantial, flew overhead or careened into the friendly side of the scraped-out trench.
The bombardment went on and on, averaging one major explosion every twelve to fifteen seconds. Cruz lost track of the time. Even before it was finished, every mortar and gun of the legion opened up, lighting up both the open desert skyline and the interior of Ninewa.
Anticipating that the regular bombardment would stay fairly regular, Cruz waited until one of the really big blasts had gone off, waited a few prudent seconds for the metal shards to either pass over or come to rest, and stuck his head up for a risky look.
'It's all smoke and fire,' he shouted to his men. 'I can't see everything on the edge of town for the smoke, but what I can see has been better than half obliterated.' As he watched he saw a substantial building fall to the ground, pouring off bricks as it came down.
He ducked again and just in time as another aerial bomb went off.
Between the distinct sounds of the bombing, Cruz made out the sound of engines, a lot of them, swinging in from the left until they were directly behind him. Then the engines began to grow louder as they moved toward the town, coming closer.
The mechanized cohort had feinted first to the west of the town, then-leaving behind one century to maintain the deception-the rest had turned around and swung wide to three-quarters circle Ninewa again and take up a position to the east. There, behind the First Cohort, they lined up, the remaining three mechanized centuries on line, tanks leading, followed by the Ocelots carrying the infantry.
Perez stood in the hatch of his tank, scanning ahead with his eyes while del Rio, below in the turret, scanned through the tank's thermal imager. Jorge Mendoza just drove, his eyes and crown only just sticking up out of the cramped driver's compartment.
Mendoza felt his heart begin to pound when he heard the century signifer call over the radio, 'Roll.'
Perez acknowledged the order and echoed it, adding in the directions, 'Jorge, aim for those chemlights ahead and stop when we reach them.' Mendoza put the tank into gear and began rolling forward, picking up speed quickly as he went. The tank lurched into a shallow trench and then, as Mendoza applied the gas, pulled out of it. It stopped on the other side, rocking back and forth for a moment.
Perez looked around until his eyes rested on a small group of infantry, just rising out of the scraping. 'Come on, come on; climb aboard. We haven't got all day.' Doubting the infantry could hear him, Perez used his arms to signal that it was time.
Cruz saw the tanker frantically waving for him and his men to climb aboard. He'd never trained on this, but it seemed straightforward enough: climb on, hang on for dear life and hope that the damned thing doesn't fire the main gun until you can climb the hell off.
'Mount up, boys,' he ordered over the diesel's roar. 'Sanchez, take the tail.'
Cruz climbed aboard first, arms grasping for purchase and legs scrambling and slipping on road wheels and treads. He eyed the reactive armor, uncertainly. Rather, he was absolutely certain he didn't want to be anywhere near the damned rolling target if it took a hit and one of the explosive bricks went off.
Then again, if it takes a hit does it really matter? Probably not; probably not even a little. Just be adding insult to-mortal-injury.
Once safely mounted, Cruz reached down an arm to help the next man, Robles, climb up. With Sanchez pushing and Robles pulling they soon had Correa up. Correa and Robles helped Sanchez while Cruz tried to speak to the tank commander.
'I'm Perez,' the sergeant shouted over the engine's roar. 'We're going to close to within two hundred meters of the edge of town, firing the machine guns like maniacs. Then you grunts get off, along with the rest of your people and clear the edge. After that, we'll lead and you support.'
'Why just the machine guns?' Cruz asked.
'Son, you don't want to be on this tank if we fire the main gun,' Perez answered. 'It… hurts.'
'I understand, Sergeant Perez,' Cruz shouted back. 'Just give me the high sign when it's time to get off.'
Perez replaced his combat vehicle crewman's helmet and said something, presumably to the driver. Cruz barely had his men positioned when the tank took off again with a shudder and a lurch.
Mendoza was probably the loneliest man in or on the tank. Perez had del Rio for close company. Even the grunts on back could see each other. All he had was his lonely, isolated compartment… that, and the intruding memory of a beautiful light brown girl in a white hat and yellow print dress singing 'Ave Maria,' in a church choir.
Brutally, he pushed aside the thought of the unknown, nameless girl to concentrate on his driving. He had a set of Volgan-manufactured night vision goggles on. These were plugged into the tank for juice. They were infrared, the oldest technology, but had the advantage of being able to pick out any mines that the tank's infrared light might illuminate. Jorge saw none but maneuvered around a few suspicious spots anyway, his abrupt movements throwing Perez and del Rio around the turret and certainly pissing off the grunts hanging on over the engine compartment.
Mendoza actually smiled slightly, a sort of schadenfreude, when he thought about the grunts trying desperately to hold on despite his maneuvers. He felt a little ashamed. It isn't that funny, he told himself. Well… maybe it is.
He heard in his headphones, 'Tank, halt. Gunner, coax, eleven o'clock, antitank gunner in building.'
The coaxial machine gun began to chatter as Cruz felt the sergeant in the hatch tap his shoulder. 'Off now, and get low,' the sergeant shouted, then turned to use his own pintle-mounted heavy machine gun to fire forward.
Obediently, Cruz pushed Correa off the tank, then turned to give the boot to Sanchez and Robles. Cruz then dove off himself and rolled to a stop next to Correa.
No sooner had he done so than the tank's main gun spoke, the muzzle blast assaulting Cruz's ears painfully and causing his internal organs to ripple. Downrange a building flashed, then exploded, as a high explosive round with delay set on the fuse burst through its wall and detonated inside. Men and parts of men flew out with the walls. The tank rolled forward, its machine guns still spitting at the buildings opposite.
Even though stunned by the muzzle blast, Cruz stood up to a crouch, Correa doing likewise beside him. He looked to the left and saw Sanchez and Robles doing the same. Cruz pointed at the tank's rear panel and pulled Correa along to get them both behind it. Sanchez and Robles joined them there a split second later.
Advancing with the tank, Cruz leaned out and fired a burst at nothing in particular. He hoped the tracers would remind the commander of the tank that he had infantry following. The only thing more frightening to a foot soldier than a friendly tank lurching about without control is an enemy tank lurching about with malicious intent. And the difference in fear factor is not large.
Other tanks, to the left and the right, fired machine guns and high explosive shells into the town. To these
