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6TH MODERN ARMOR DIVISION, 3RD BABYLONIAN PEOPLES ARMY, COMBAT GRID 29-1U, NORTHWEST OF THE ANNEXED CITY OF LONDON, SOCIALIST REPUBLIC OF BABYLON. 1215 LOCAL TIME, JUNE 21st, 2054
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Kimo had a grin on his face from ear-to-ear. The engagements were going well. The 6th Division was traversing the main arterial road in the area and taking on all comers. As the tank fired again, the recoil could be felt, along with the concussion of the gun, throughout the whole vehicle. What a rush.
Whats this, Kimo said as he watched a fire team of Mayan infantry trying to setup to fire a TOW missile at his tank. My, arent we being industrious today. Tsk Task, he scolded. No. No. No. Uncle Kimo does now allow Blues to fire at his tank, he said in to his headpiece. There were some chuckles from inside the tank as the rest of the crew laughed at Kimos banter to himself. Rat-a-tat-a-tat, said Kimo, as he began firing the .50 cal machine gun in the direction of the Mayan missile team. His bullets churning up dirt in the area of the Maya. He adjusted his fire and the bullets traced a path in the dirt, getting closer to the Mayan soldiers. They were almost ready to fire.
Dont you even think about firing that thing at the peoples property!, he muttered. The sounds of the firing machine gun echoing and reverberating throughout the tank. The bullets finally found their first mark. The Mayan soldier assisting in the launch was tossed directly backward like a limp rag doll. He was instantly dead. Kimo kept strafing.
The Mayan missile fired. At the instant the missile left the tube, Kimos bullets found their mark on the triggerman. The triggerman was thrown backwards, arms flailing as he did the jig-of-death. The bullets tore in to him, leaving gaping holes. The missile, no longer under wire guidance from the operator, veered slightly off course, and flew behind Kimo, narrowly missing the tank, and exploding in the distance.
Suddenly, there was dead silence.
After the heat of the moment was over. Kimo stared in to the distance. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of the one remaining Mayan fire team member crunching on the grass and twigs as he was in a full-out run away from Kimos tank. He didnt even look over his shoulder at the Babylonian tank commander. He would have seen a wide eyed, and very subdued, Kimo. Despite the close call, and near death experience, the radio in Kimos helmet continued to buzz with reports from the other platoons within his division. Kimo shook it off, and began to refocus his attention on the current task-at-hand.
Damn Blues, he muttered.
Lets go Pablo", he ordered as the tank lurched to a start, and resumed pursuing it's prey.