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.“They’re advancing, as bold as brass.”“They probably think we’re going to run,” Lieutenant Douglas Baird growled.After the attacks on the FOB, the tank platoon had been ordered to advance towards pre-selected positions, where they would wait for trouble or for the rest of the division to begin its advance towards King Khalid Military City.A lanky man who bore an uncomfortable relationship to the Tenth Doctor from Doctor Who, Baird was determined to prove himself before his junior officers.“I wonder what else they’re bringing to the party.”He glanced down at the terminal and allowed himself a grin.The Saudis hadn't realised it, but their Force Tracking system was giving away their location to the American forces, who hadn't hesitated to take advantage of it.Baird had been warned that the Saudis could be running an elaborate bluff – he’d heard plenty of horror stories from the older sweats about how deceptive and treacherous the Arabs could be – yet it seemed rather implausible.The commander of the enemy force might have well have painted bulls-eyes on their own tanks.Once the USAF returned to CAS operations, the Saudis were going to get a pasting.“Target the lead tank and load antitank rounds,” he ordered.The briefing had made one point clear; the Saudis might have Abrams tanks of their own, but they didn't have the special armour protection of their American counterparts and would, therefore, be killed easily.They had been warned not to get overconfident, yet Baird couldn't see how the Saudis intended to win.The Kuwaitis alone would have given them a bloody nose.“Prepare to move us when they start returning fire.”“Yes, sir,” the driver said.He felt the tank vibrating beneath his feet as the engines rumbled to life.The Saudis might be able to pick them up on an IR scope, but it was already too late.“We’re ready to move.”“Fire,” Baird ordered.The tank shuddered as it launched the first round towards the enemy tank.“Reload and target the second tank; fire at will.”The tankers of the Second World War would have been astonished to discover just how rapidly an Abrams – even with a half-trained crew – could fire on the enemy.The main gun was already rotating to come to bear on the second target when the first shell struck home, smashing through a Saudi tank and sending it up in a massive fireball.Baird had no time to feel sympathy for the crew as his tank fired again, hitting the second enemy tank and bringing their column to a halt.The third enemy tank was struggling to target the American position when it too was hit, sputtering to a halt before exploding.The fourth Saudi tank fired a shell back towards the American tank, but it was so badly aimed that it flew right over their heads.“Get us back,” Baird snapped.The driver was already gunning the tank, pulling them out of their position and sending them careering back, just before a shell impacted right where they had been.Clearly, at least one of the Saudi crews had been paying attention on the training ground.“See if you can hit the bastard who.”“Got him, boss,” the gunner said, as another Saudi tank exploded.Baird saw the enemy turret rising up into the air before crashing down to the ground.“My, he was a quick one.”“Incoming enemy rounds,” the radio crackled.“They’re shelling your positions.”Baird nodded.“Keep firing,” he ordered.The other tanks in the platoon were adding their own firepower to the mix, hammering the softer Saudi vehicles as well as the tanks.He rather suspected that seeing their best and brightest hit so hard would convince the Saudis to back off and surrender, but if they were anything like the Iraqis, perhaps not.The old sweats had plenty of tales of enemies who had been forced to fight the invading Americans at gunpoint.“Call in and see if we can get some support from aircraft.”He saw a Saudi helicopter disintegrate in a sheet of flame, struck by a missile launched by American soldiers.He had no doubt that the USAF’s aircraft were already on their way.Now the Saudis had come out of cover, they would be hammered and trapped, rather than be allowed to fall back into their cities.They would have the choice between surrendering or dying in place.***“Watch your back,” Doug snapped, as he led his men towards the enemy.The company had been moved up to the front lines just after they’d beaten off the enemy soldiers who had tried to storm the base, where they’d been ordered to provide support to the tankers covering the Kuwaiti Border.The Kuwaitis weren't that keen on massed tank battles in their country and were therefore urging the Americans to fight as far forward as possible.At least there was a contingency plan for such a battle.“Keep your heads down and don’t be afraid to shoot!”There were some chuckles from the older sweats as Saudi artillery began crashing down all over the battlefield.Doug wasn't sure what they thought they were shooting at, but their shooting wasn't very accurate.The same couldn't be said for the American gunners to the rear, who used their radars to track the Saudi shells back to their launchers and bombarded them until they put the guns out of action.The more Doug considered the battlefield, the more he realised that both sides had largely lost control, for the Saudis were feeding in men and material without regard for losses.He saw a flight of American aircraft – the ugly Warthogs, loved by American soldiers and feared by everyone else – passing overhead, before opening fire on the Saudi positions
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