Still, Wager'd looked over Yokel tanks out of curiosity. Memories echoed in his mind when his eyes rested on the holographic image.
"We can expect the other force to continue their approach from due south," Ranson's bored, boring voice continued. "Tootsie Three, you'll command the eastern element. Proceed with your blower and One-six clockwise from Chin Peng Rise, around Kawana by Hull Creek and Raider Camp Creek. Stay out of sight. Wait at the head of Raider Camp Creek, a kilometer east of Sugar Knob to the south of Kawana."
Via, thirty of them. If it wasn't thirty-five.
Or forty-four, despite Blue Two's scorn of the Yokel's ability to keep their hardware operational.
Each tank weighed sixteen point eight tonnes. They were track-laying vehicles with five road-wheels per side and the drive sprocket forward. Steel/ceramic sandwich armor. Diesel engine on the right side,opposite the driver. A two-man turret with either a high-velocity 60mm automatic cannon or a 130mm howitzer.
Lightweight vehicles, designed for the particular needs of the National Army in a guerrilla war that might at any moment burst into pitched battles with a foe equipped by the Terran World Government.
Nothing Wager's panzer couldn't handle, one on one. Nothing a combat car couldn't handle, one on one.
Thirty. Or thirty-five. Or more.
"I will command the western element," Ranson said coolly. "Cars One-one, One-three, and One-five.We'll circle Kawana by Upper Creek and wait a kilometer west of Sugar Knob until the intentions of the other force become clear."
A shaped-charge round from the 130mm howitzer moved too fast for the close-in defense system to knock it down.A direct hit could penetrate the armor of a Slammers' tank.
The 60mm guns fired either high-explosive shells or armor-piercing shot. A single tungsten-carbide shot wouldn't penetrate Blue Three's hull or turret armor.Three hitting the same point might. Twelve on the same point
The clip-loaded 60mm cannon could cycle twelve rounds in twelve seconds.
"Blue Three," Ranson said, "if the other battalion is hostile, we will need
"Roger, Tootsie Six."
Hans Wager's hands were wiping themselves slowly against his pants legs. The rhythmic, unconscious gesture dried his palms for less than the time it took for his arms to move back and start the process again.
