CLUNK. CLUNK. The first six rounds would go into the ready-use drum, from which the gun could cycle them in less than fifteen seconds.
CLUNK. CLUNK. Each round would be launched as an individually targeted fire mission. The hog's computer chose from the ready-use drum the shell that most nearly matched the target parameters.
For bunkers, an armor-piercing shell or delay-fused high explosive if no armor piercing was in the drum.Soon down the line until,if nothing else were available, a paint-filled practice round blasted out of the tube.
CLUNK. The loading system refilled the ready-use drum automatically, until the on-board stowage was exhausted and the outside tray no longer received fresh rounds. Lavel could hear the second gurney-load squealing closer.
CLUNK.
The drum was loaded—six green lights on the console. He could check the shell-types by asking the system, but there was no need. He'd chosen the first six rounds to match the needs of his initial salvo.
A touch threw the target map up on the screen above the gunnery console.The drone's on-board computer had processed the data before dumping it.
Damage to buildings within la Reole—shell burst patterns as well as holes—provided accurate information as to the type and bearing of the Consie weapons. When that data was superimposed on the raw new siege works, it was easy for an artificial intelligence to determine the location of the enemy's heavy weapons, the guns that were dangerous to an armored task force.
One more thing to check. "TOC," Lavel said to his commo helmet.
No response for ten seconds, thirty . . . The first shell of the new batch clanged down on the loading ramp.
"Tech 2 Helibrun," a harried voice responded at last. "Go ahead, Yellow Six."
Yellow Six. Officer in command of Transit. Lavel's lips curled.
"I'm waiting for the patch to Tootsie Six,"he said,more sharply than the delay warranted. "Why haven't I been connected?"
"The bl—"the commo tech began angrily. He continued after a pause to swallow. "Chief, the patch is in place. We don't have contact with the task force yet, is all. From the data we've got from Central, it'll be about an hour before they're on ground high enough that we can reach them from here."
Another pause; instead of an added,
Lavel swallowed his own anger.He was getting impatient; which was silly,since he'd waited more than seven years already . . . .
"Roger," he said. "Yellow Six out."
