The company surged forward. Torres caught glimpses of other platoons maneuvering — First on the left, Third swinging wide right. Textbook company team breach and assault.
“Loader, how we doing on ammo?”
“Eight sabot, four AMPs remaining,” Munoz replied promptly. The kid was finding his rhythm, combat stress focusing him now instead of freezing him up.
“Two-Two, infantry in the open, one o’clock,” Novak called.
Torres saw the thermal mannequins representing dismounted infantry. In combat, these would be the enemy’s last reserve, trying to stop the breakthrough.
“Burke, coax. Troops in the open — eight o’clock, two hundred meters!” Torres shouted.
The coaxial machine gun chattered, walking tracers across the target array. The exercise controllers marked them destroyed, one by one.
And then, suddenly, it was over.
“Objective secured,” Morrison announced. “Cease fire, cease fire. ENDEX.”
Torres slumped in his seat, adrenaline crash hitting hard. Around them, the battlefield fell silent except for idling engines and the crackle of burning simulators.
“Nice work, Boone,” Torres praised. “That was textbook driving through that breach, Specialist. Well done!”
“Thanks, Sergeant.” The kid sounded exhausted but proud. “Though I about filled my pants on more than one occasion. That has to be the most realistic tank course I’ve ever seen.”
“Man, you ain’t joking, Boone. If you didn’t pucker a little on this course, you weren’t paying attention,” Burke drawled.
They pulled into the assembly area as dawn broke. Maintenance teams swarmed over vehicles, checking for exercise damage. Torres found Staff Sergeant Granger standing beside Two-Three, staring at his tank.
“You OK, Granger?” Torres asked.
“That was intense, Torres. If Assassin Ripsaw Two hadn’t marked that position first…” Granger shook his head. “Those robots saved our bacon tonight.”
It was true. Despite losing one M5, the unmanned vehicles had identified threats faster than human crews could have managed. The integration was working.
“Sergeant Torres!” Lieutenant Novak approached, Captain Morrison and the company executive officer in tow. “Outstanding work tonight.”
“Thank you, sir. The platoon performed well.”
The XO, First Lieutenant Washington, studied him with calculating eyes. “Walk with us, Sergeant First Class.”
They moved away from the vehicles, finding privacy behind a maintenance shelter. Dawn painted the Polish countryside gold, but Torres felt the weight of what was coming.
“I’ll cut to it,” Washington said. “The CO and I have been watching you. Your platoon has the best gunnery scores, highest readiness rates, and now this — flawless execution under pressure.”
“It’s a team effort, sir.”
“Ah don’t be modest,” Captain Morrison interjected. “Your leadership makes the difference. Which is why we need to talk about contingencies.”
Torres felt his stomach tighten. He knew where this was going.
Washington continued, “Listen, if this balloon goes up — and between us, intel says it might — we need depth in our leadership. If something happens to me or the CO, or hell, Novak…”
“You’re the glue holding this platoon together,” Morrison finished. “But we might need you to hold more than that. If the company officers are taken out, are you ready and able to step up? To take command of the company if it comes to that?”
The question hung in the morning air. Torres thought of his crews — Burke and Munoz, finally clicking as a team. Granger, steady as a rock. Delaney, turning his poetry into deadly precision. The kids would become killers if they had too.
“If it comes to it, sir. I’ll do whatever the mission requires.”
“Good. I know you will.” Captain Morrison clapped his shoulder. “I know this sounds morbid, me asking you this. But it’s important for me and the other officers in the company to know which of our NCOs can set up and take charge if things really get ugly. During World War II, tank crews died pretty quickly. Hell, we saw how fast tank crews got chewed up in the Russo-Ukraine War. I just need you to think about it and be ready in case this exercise in Belarus spills over into NATO territory.”
Torres nodded. “I understand, sir. I appreciate the confidence you have in my ability to lead should it come to it. I’ll do what has to be done.”
Morrison smiled. “I like that about you, Torres. You’d make a hell of an officer if you ever decided to put in for your commission. But enough of that. Get your guys some rest. We’ve got recovery operations at 1000, then Major Lathrop wants to review what went right, what went wrong, and what could go better. The battalion plans to run the exercise again tomorrow night.”
“Wow, no rest for the weary.”
Morrison laughed. “There never is, Sergeant. There never is.”
As the officers departed, Torres stood alone, watching the sunrise. Somewhere to the east, past Belarus, Russian and Chinese forces conducted their own exercises. Training their own crews, testing their own integration of man and machine.
