“The gunner and driver will swap out at each refuel point.” Stone held up his binoculars and looked ahead, then to the rear, and kept looking for half a minute. “Okay, the trail vehicle is moving now.”
“Six hours,” said Galen.
“That’s right, six hours.” Stone let his binoculars hang from their strap. “Then ten hours, then six more hours, then crew rest for two hours, then we deploy.”
“Sounds exciting.” Galen looked at the grunts on the tank. They were curled up on the rear deck of the tank for the most part, trying to get comfortable, but two of them kept vigilant watch, one on each side of the glacis plate. He didn’t bother to ask if they’d rotate that duty, he already knew they would. Galen looked down inside the turret. The gunner was slumped over, fast asleep, his ground troop helmet cocked way back on his head, a foam pad taken from a packing crate placed between his forehead and the gun sight.
Stone said, “This long march is necessary to avoid detection by the Twelfth. We’ll stay well beyond the range of their sensor’s visual range, and we’re not giving them any electronic signals to detect.”
Galen nodded. He knew. He slumped down into the loader’s seat and dozed off.
Stone shoved Galen’s shoulder. “Wake up, Command Smaj. We’re almost there.”
Galen stood and looked out ahead of the tank. There was a ROM site set up, the four fuelers parked facing in like spokes of a wheel, their fuel delivery hoses pulled out to connect to a longer hose that made a circle over five hundred meters across, or about 1800 meters around, a line attached with a fuel dispensing nozzle every thirty meters, so that all 57 tanks could refuel at once. Galen watched as the lead tank drove completely around the circle until it was signaled to stop near the same spot it had started, by Karen herself. A troop from her company stood at each fuel point.
Stone yelled, “Dismount!”
All the infantry and the tank crew members climbed off the vehicle and went fifty meters away from the circle, and took turns pulling security and relieving themselves and stretching their legs. Galen looked back and saw Karen dispensing fuel into the tank. Then she climbed down and rolled a metal 150 liter drum behind the tank. Galen and Stone and the gunner helped her lift it up onto the rear deck of the tank. The gunner attached hold down straps and Stone spun the wing nuts down tight. Karen inserted the fuel feed line adapter into where the regular fuel cap had been, checked the seal and opened the vent relief valve at the top edge of the drum.
She handed the fuel cap to Galen. “Don’t lose that.”
Galen put the cap in his left cargo pocket. “Damn you’re good.”
As she climbed off the tank she said, “I know. Now get out of my ROM site.”
The crew and the troops mounted back up. Galen stood in the cupola. The trail vehicle was right in front of him now, the battalion parked in a circle. The trail vehicle commander gave Galen a thumbs up, so Galen told his driver, “Let’s go.”
They drove past the trail vehicle and the rest of the column followed. Stone was down in the loader’s position, fast asleep, and the troop who had been driving was at the gunner’s station, looking very comfortable. One more rotation at the final refuel point would rotate the crews back to their primary duty positions. After a couple of hours, right before sunset, Galen pulled to the right of the dirt road and drove along the shoulder for half a kilometer before coming to a stop. Karen’s fueler convoy passed the tanks, zipping out ahead to set up the next ROM. Galen climbed out of the cupola and onto the glacis plate and looked at the targeting lamp attached to the gun mantle. He opened the fuel inlet valve, then spun the igniter knob to light it. A nozzle sprayed a fine mist of organic fuel into the lamp, where the light it made was reflected by the mirror in back, then focused through the thick transparent armor lens. The other tanks in the convoy wouldn’t turn on their night-targeting lamps, they could follow the glow of the hot exhaust of the tanks before them. But Galen, in the lead tank, needed the light to see where he was going. Because the route of march would not come within four hundred kilometers of Seventh City, it was highly unlikely they would be spotted. And if they were, it was unlikely the 12th Legion would even know what they had spotted, and then, it would take them time to react, and then formulate a plan of attack…Galen shook those thoughts out of his head and focused on watching the road ahead, ensuring they didn’t miss a turn, making sure the column didn’t get lost in the dark. It was easy, following the marks left on the road by Karen’s vehicles. Her trail vehicle was a tracked APC which made dark, easy-to-see marks whenever it turned.
The sun rose. Galen turned off the night targeting lamp and looked through the binoculars and saw the next ROM in the distance. He waited until the tank was circling around before waking Stone and the gunner. As soon as the vehicle was parked Galen yelled, “Dismount!”
Galen walked away to stretch his legs, relieved himself, drank some water and by the time he turned around to walk back to the Hellcat, it’s fuel tank was topped off and the auxiliary fuel drum was removed, Karen herself rolling it back to the center of the ROM area. He climbed up, took the fuel cap from his pocket and screwed it in place and then slumped down in the loader’s seat and fell asleep so fast, it was like passing out.
Galen woke up for a few seconds at a time, intermittently, but dozed right back off during the forty kilometer march into the crew-rest area, where the infantry dismounted and pulled twenty-five percent security, then the final fifty kilometer push into the objective area to set up a static defense to prevent the Twelfth Legion of Doom from reaching City Eight. After the tank had been halted for about an hour, Stone gave Galen’s shoulder a hard shake.
“Wake up, Command Smaj. Master Sergeant Sevin is here.”
Galen climbed down off the tank and stood on wobbly legs, sore, aches and pains all through his body. He removed his helmet and rubbed the sides of his aching head, drank some water and breathed deep. After doing some stretches he felt better and began to notice the burnt-hair smell of the vehicle exhaust. A group was gathering in front of Stone’s tank, all the platoon leaders, company commanders and battalion staff from the infantry battalion and the Hellcat tank battalion. They stood facing Sevin in a loose half-circle. Galen walked around to stand on the right side of Sevin.
Galen looked around. For the first time he could ever remember, Sevin was the least-haggard looking soldier around. The tank crews and the infantry troops were tired, dirty and unwashed; Sevin was fresh and clean, the scent of bath soap emanating from him.
“Gentlemen,” said Galen, “it ain’t no secret, we’re going into battle.”
A low, murmured laugh made its way around the group, with some coughs from dusty throats. Galen continued, “I now cede the floor to Sevin.” Galen took two backward steps.
Sevin said, “I’m Master Sergeant Sevin, your Battle Captain for this operation. Hate me now even more, because I’m the only troop here with an electronic device, this personal communicator.”
He held it up for all to see. The envy showed on every face.
“Now listen up, here’s the deal. The Twelfth has left Seventh City and will be here in a couple of hours. Intel shows they are bringing everything they have, a show of force to intimidate Eight into paying them not to destroy their city. Chatter indicates they know we have something here, but they have no idea we have two battalions here. Regardless, they do have sufficient force to mount a strong attack that would most likely fail but would inflict over eighty percent casualties on us.”
Sevin paused. Galen looked around. The troops stood resolute, accepting their fate.