Lieutenant Colonel Loonfeather switched from armor to command net. “Thunder, this is Raptor Six. My tanks have engaged; they are my last reserve. Bob, where are my gunships?”

“This is Thunder, Colonel. Four flights of Sea Cobras inbound from five miles out. We had to hold them until the Navy cleared its guns. Two minutes, maybe three.”

“I hope my Sheridans can buy that much time. We’re looking at enemy tanks barely thirty meters from crashing in, Bob.”

“Understood, Rufus. The Snakes are coming.”

Loonfeather pounded the radio with frustration as he switched back to armor net.

Lieutenant John Connelly heard on the armor net that Red Four, Five, and Six had destroyed two of the three Libyans before losing Red Six. They would reload and then pop up and shoot again. “Roger, Four. We’ll get up and take a shot at the second rank now. Red Two, this is Red Leader. Let’s go. I’ll take the nearest.”

“Roger, Leader,” said Sergeant Burnside in Red Two. “Nice of them to be up on the runway for us.”

Connelly switched to intercom. “Huckins, drive us up. Calandra, I’ll fire from my position. You tell Huckins as soon as we’re far enough up for the gun to bare, and then Huckins, you just stop.”

“We’re rolling, Lieutenant,” answered Private Huckins, putting the Sheridan in gear.

Spec 4 Calandra looked through the periscope sight in his gunner’s position. “Roger, sir.”

As the Sheridan advanced up the gentle incline to the edge of the runway, Connelly pressed the palm switch on his control handle to gain control from Calandra, then pushed the handle forward to depress the gun to its maximum of eight degrees below horizontal. As soon as they were up enough to see targets through the sights, they would stop and fire. It had to be a first-shot kill, thought Connelly, and then scoot back down out of sight while Morrow, the loader, reloaded the gun.

“That’s enough, Huckins!” said Calandra. Connelly saw three tanks heading for the corner of the runway where Four and Five had retreated. He trained the gun onto the nearest with the control handle. It became huge in the telescope, and he pressed the trigger. The gun roared, and the Sheridan skidded backward in the soft sand.

“Back her up, Huckins!” yelled Connelly.

“You got him, sir!” said Calandra, jubilant. The tracks churned in the sand as the Sheridan dropped from sight. The scavenging system blew the gasses out of the gun and the breech opened.

“HEAT, loaded, up!” exclaimed Morrow.

Connelly switched to armor net. “Red Platoon, Leader. Report, over.”

“This is Two. You got yours; I missed mine, over.”

“Four and Five are ready to pop up, Leader,” said Red Four.

“Go, Four and Five. Be careful, they’re coming right at you.”

Major Kirov saw White Three erupt with flame as it was struck on the left side. He traversed his turret to the left, his head pressed into the padded rest above the periscope. The turret and gun of the Sheridan were just visible, and were gone before he could fire. “White Two, continue on. I am turning to attack another target.”

White Two acknowledged, and Kirov told his driver to turn hard left. The tank dipped and pitched downward as it left the runway and ran down the shallow slope. “Turn parallel to the runway, and slow down, Ali,” said Kirov to his driver.

Sergeant Mamani in White Two saw the Sheridans just as they emerged at the edge of the runway. They were fifty meters apart and moving fast. He trained the gun on the one directly ahead with a flick of the control column and fired. He had only a vague impression in the corner of his eye of the target exploding as he shouted to his driver to turn to the left toward the second target. He had already centered the second Sheridan in his sights and ground his teeth waiting for the bore evacuator to blow the muzzle free and the automatic loader to load. After an eternity of watching the American pull up and swing its big gun to bear, the “Loaded” light appeared in his sight, and he crushed the trigger in his grip. He imagined a flash from the American’s gun just as his gun fired, and then his world ended in a searing blast of heat.

“Red Leader, this is Four. There’s one tank; he just blasted Five. I’m engage-”

The transmission from Four ended in an electronic hiss. Connelly thumbed the microphone. “Red Four, this is Leader, over.” Nothing. “The bastard must have gotten them both,” he said into the intercom.

“Red Leader, this is Blue Leader, over.”

Connelly keyed the mike on armor net. “Go ahead, Baird. Where are you?” “I’m on the taxiway, on the north edge of runway 11/29. I’m moving toward you. My radio went dead when I fired about ten minutes ago, and we just got it back up.”

“What can you see from there?”

“There’s a lot of smoke blowing north from burning buildings and smoke from the battle blowing over the runway and taxiway. I can see two tanks advancing on the Ops Building on the edge of the smoke. Yablonski thinks he sees a third. He’s choking the reticle for the range - Jesus!” Lieutenant Baird let go of the mike switch and traversed the turret violently to the right. They were passing a revetment and Baird, sitting up in the open cupola, found himself looking at the back of a T-72 forty meters away, deep inside the revetment. He saw the startled face of the tank’s commander as the man frantically reached for his control column. Baird depressed his gun and fired, hitting the T-72 just below the engine grills.

“Jesus Christ!” said Yablonski, the gunner. “The motherfucker didn’t detonate!” A cloud of white smoke rose from the engine compartment, but there was no explosion.

“Round never went far enough to arm,” said Baird, awe in his voice. The Libyan tank commander continued to stare at him, then slowly raised his hands. “Doesn’t matter,” said Baird. “His engine’s fucked; he’s out of it.” He swung the turret back toward the tanks advancing across the runway. The radio crackled in his ear. “Take the shoot, Yablonski.”

“Got it, sir. Driver, stop. On the way!”

“We’re loaded, Lieutenant,” said Morrow.

“Two, Leader, you ready, over?” said Connelly, flexing his hand on the control column.

“Roge.”

“Four said one tank. He might have gotten it, but if we see it, we’ll both shoot. Then let’s crank up and go after the tanks Blue Leader says are almost to the Ops Building.”

“Roger, Leader, we’re rolling.”

Connelly’s Sheridan jerked into motion. Two was barely visible in the swirling dust fifty meters away to his left and a little ahead. “Speed it up a little, Huckins.”