Tin Soldiers

Excerpts of Tin Soldiers,
a novel by Michael Farmer, 2003

Cold Steel Battle Position, Northern Kuwait -

"Twenty-seven hundred meters, sir." The timbre of the gunner's voice was rising.

"Roger." Sweat ran traces down Dillon's forehead, cutting rivulets into the dust coating his face. The Steel company commander watched the enemy formation continue to close on their position, hoping that the company's M1A1 tanks were dug in well enough to blend with the desert floor. It was the little things that could give their hide position away - a tank whose crew had forgotten to tie down his antennas; excess sand piled around a fighting position; a pair of goggles on top of a CVC helmet reflecting the early morning sun into an alert Iraqi vehicle commander's eyes. Any one of these things could tip their hand. Just a little closer .

"Twenty-six hundred!" yelled the gunner.

The captain continued to stare north and answered in a quiet voice, "Steady."

Dillon now saw roughly sixty vehicles pulling into support by fire positions to watch over the Iraqi engineers as they prepared to breach the obstacle belt. Most of them were Russian T-72 tanks, and Dillon would bet his bars they all had the new Swiss depleted uranium maingun round that had cut apart their sister battalion last night. It appeared the Abrams was no longer invincible. Doing the battlefield math, Dillon knew they were outnumbered four-to-one.but the enemy didn't know they were here, so surprise was on their side. And once the locals closed, there was nowhere for them to hide, nothing but open desert as far as the eye could see.

Dillon's gunner, head bent to his sight, sent another report. "I have over a platoon of tanks at twenty-five hundred meters, Avenue of Approach One, vicinity TRP Charlie One. More vehicles approaching TRPs Charlie Two and Charlie Three. There's a butt-load of the fuckers out there, sir."

Time to buy the baby some new shoes. "ALL STEEL ELEMENTS, STEEL 6. TWO ROUNDS SABOT . AT MY COMMAND . TOPHAT, TOPHAT, TOPHAT!"

As one animal, fourteen American main battle tanks appeared from the desert floor, belching smoke and flame.

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Phase Line Sheridan, Northern Kuwait -

Cole held up a hand as he peered at the endless array of armored vehicles that had approached moments ago from the north. The tanks and fighting vehicles had now stopped, which meant the NCO could bring some serious scunnion down on them in the form of artillery fires before the enemy armor could reach the thin American line a few kilometers south of his position. Unable to reach the artillery unit on his radio, the scout called his platoon leader again. "LIGHTHORSE 6, THIS IS LIGHTHORSE 26. THESE GUYS AIN'T STAYIN' STATIONARY FOREVER. I NEED THOSE FIRES, TIME NOW, OVER."

The radio squawked. "ROGER, UNDERSTAND. I HAVE LIGHTNING ON THE RADIO AND WILL RELAY YOUR CALL FOR FIRE."

Cole sent the group target numbers and waited to adjust the 155mm rounds that would soon be falling to his front. His assistant pulled frantically at his boss's sleeve. The American scout continued to stare down range through the binoculars. "Standby, Ramirez. I'm busy."

"But, Sergeant Cole."

The hand held up to put off his young assistant now transformed into a solitary warning finger. "Stand - by - Ramirez. It can wait a minute."

As Cole continued watching the enemy formation, he heard heavy diesel engines nearby. He looked to his right. "Ramirez?"

"Yeah, Sergeant Cole?"

"Were you trying to tell me that you saw a bunch of vehicles to the east of the first group?

Ramirez put down the spare set of binos he'd been utilizing. "Uh-huh."

"And that they were headed this way?"

"Yep."

Cole felt his pulse quicken. "Start getting our shit together and prepare to make a run for the Hummer."

"Roger." Ramirez began policing up the ammo, maps, radio batteries, and other equipment that were the bread and butter of a scout observation post. Cole jumped back to the radio. As he was picking up the handset to send the new spot report, the radio came to life.

"26, THIS IS 6. SPLASH, OVER."

Shit. He'd forgotten entirely about the fire mission. He turned to Ramirez. "Get the hell outta here. I'm right behind you."

Ramirez shook his head doggedly. "I'll wait for you."

Cole started to argue, then held up a finger for what seemed the ump-teenth time in the past hour. "THIS IS 26. SPLASH, OUT." He held up the binos in time to see the first group of vehicles disappear in a mass of dust and smoke. Group artillery targets consisted of multiple targets, all fired at once. There was a lot of shit falling on the bad guys, which was good. But it made it damned difficult to see if anything was actually being hit, which wasn't so good.

"6, 26. TELL LIGHTNING TO REPEAT, I SAY AGAIN, REPEAT THE FIRE MISSION. BREAK.6, CURRENTLY OBSERVING A SECOND GROUP OF VEHICLES, ROUGHLY SAME SIZE AND COMPOSITION AS FIRST GROUP, MAYBE A LITTLE LARGER. VICINITY TRP ECHO TWO, MOVING SOUTH. WE'VE GOT TO MOVE FROM CURRENT POSITION. ESTIMATE THE LEAD VEHICLES WILL BE ON TOP OF OUR CURRENT POSITION IN LESS THAN ONE ZERO MINUTES, OVER."

"THIS IS 6. GOOD COPY. MOVE TO ALTERNATE LOCATION NOW. CALL ME WHEN SET. OUT."

Cole threw the radio onto his back and grabbed his M16. "God dammit, Ramirez! When I tell you to do something, I don't have time to argue."

Green tracers stitched a line between Cole and Ramirez. Both men bolted south towards the wadi in which their Hummer was hidden. Behind them they heard the roaring diesel engine of a Russian-made BRDM scout car. Apparently the Iraqi recon forward of the enemy had been watching the American scouts and worked their way close enough to engage. Ramirez, younger and more agile, was in the lead. Cole looked over his shoulder in time to see the BRDM pop over an intervisibility line three hundred meters behind them. Shit. Green tracers again streaked from the vehicle's 7.62mm machinegun. In what seemed slow motion, Cole saw Ramirez reach for his calf, then stagger and go down as if a giant hand had swatted him on the back. Cole sprinted towards his fallen scout.

Michael Farmer / TheTanker.Com E-Mail readermail@TheTanker.Com

"HEADSHOT" Featuring John Bertetto