Thirty rockets landed in Mackall's sector and thirty in the valley before him. The impact of the explosives shook his tank violently, and he could hear the pings of fragments bouncing off his armor. But it was the smoke that frightened him. That meant Ivan was coming. From thirty separate points, gray-white smoke billowed into the air, forming an instant manmade cloud that enveloped all the ground in view. Mackall and his gunner activated their thermal-imaging sights.
"Buffalo, this is Six," the troop commander called in over the command circuit. "Check in."
Mackall listened in closely. All eleven vehicles were intact, protected by their deep holes. Again he blessed the engineers-and the German farmers-who had dug the shelters. No further orders were passed. None were needed.
"Enemy in view," the gunner reported.
The thermal sight measured differences in temperature and could penetrate most of the mile of smoke cover. And the wind was on their side. A ten-mile-per-hour breeze was driving the cloud back east. Sergeant First Class Terry Mackall took a deep breath and went to work.
"Target tank, ten o'clock. Sabot! Shoot!"
The gunner trained left and centered the sight reticle on the nearest Soviet battle tank. His thumbs depressed the laser button, and a thin beam of light bounced off the target. The range display came up in his sight: 1310 meters. The fire-control computer plotted target distance and speed, elevating the main gun. The computer measured wind speed and direction, air density and humidity, the temperature of the air, and the tank's own shells, and all the gunner had to do was place the target in the center of his sights. The whole operation took less than two seconds, and the gunner's fingers jammed home on the triggers.
A forty-foot muzzle blast annihilated the shrubs planted two years earlier by some German Boy Scouts. The tank's 105mm gun jerked back in recoil, ejecting the spent aluminum case. The shell came apart in the air, the sabot failing free of the projectile, a 40mm dart made of tungsten and uranium that lanced through the air at almost a mile a second.
The projectile struck the target one second later at the base of the gun turret. Inside, a Russian gunner was just picking up a round for his own cannon when the uranium core of the shot burned through the protective steel. The Russian tank exploded, its turret flying thirty feet into the air.
"Hit!" Mackall said. "Target tank, twelve o'clock. Sabot! Shoot!"
The Russian and American tanks fired at the same instant, but the Russian shot went high, missing the defiladed M-1 by nearly a meter. The Russian was less lucky.
"Time to leave," Mackall announced. "Straight back! Heading for alternate one."
The driver already had reverse engaged, and twisted hard on his throttle control. The tank surged backward, then spun right and headed fifty yards to another prepared position.
"Damned smoke!" Sergetov swore. The wind blew it back in their faces, and they couldn't tell what was going on. The battle was now in the hands of captains, lieutenants, and sergeants. All they could see was the orange fireballs of exploding vehicles, and there was no way to know whose they were. The colonel in command had his radio headset on and was barking orders to his subunit commanders.
Mackall was in his fast alternate position in less than a minute. This one had been dug parallel to the ridgeline, and his massive turret trained to the left. He could see the infantry now, dismounted and running ahead of their assault carriers. Allied artillery, both German and American, ripped through their ranks, but not quickly enough.
"Target-tank with an antenna, just coming out of the treeline."
"Got 'em!" the gunner answered. He saw a Russian T-80 main battle tank with a large radio antenna projecting from the turret. That would be a company commander-maybe a battalion commander. He fired.
The Russian tank wheeled just as the shot left the muzzle. Mackall watched the tracer barely miss his engine compartment.
"Gimme a HEAT round!'' the gunner shouted over the intercom.
"Ready!"
"Turn back, you mother-"
The Russian tank was driven by an experienced sergeant who zigzagged his way across the valley floor. He jinked every five seconds, and now brought his tank left again-
The gunner squeezed off his round. The tank jumped at the recoil and the spent round clanged off the turret's rear wall. Already the closed tank hull stank of the ammonia-based propellant.
"Hit! Nice shot, Woody!"
The shell hit the Russian between the last pair of road wheels and wrecked the tank's diesel engine. In a moment the crew began to bail out, "escaping" into an environment alive with shell fragments.
Mackall ordered his driver to move again. By the time they were in their next firing position, the Russians were less than five hundred meters away. They fired two more shots, killing an infantry carrier and knocking the tread off a tank.
"Buffalo, this is Six, begin moving to Bravo Line-execute."
