Fuckin' dickass thing deleted.

“Two targets, three o'clock! One point six kilometers and closing fast, sir!”

Nicky had spun the turret to face them immediately after the contact report was called. Nicky had them marked on your HUDs, and Hans was already moving perpendicular to them to throw any shots they would've had on you, 'cause they damn sure saw you. Your magical systems crewman was also doing her job, making sure your right side was ready to be shielded just in case and that your XM257 railgun was charged and ready to fire.

“Alright ya'll, you know the drill. Nicky, gimme firing solution data on priority target. Hans, move us into the nearest concealment. Michael, make sure our gun sings. I'm not gonna sit here and fight these motherfuckers in the open, that's just what they want.” You tap your MSC on her shoulder with your foot. “You keep it up, honey. Doing great.”

Booze Hound hustled out to a berm, stopping just short of the embankment itself. The shrubbery there would hide your vehicle's chassis, and the turret would just poke over enough to give Nick a clean shot at the two Abrams bearing down on you. Hans slid the tank into position expertly, angling it so that he'd be able to gun the engine to sprint away as soon as you ordered it.

The two hunters were on the trail. They'd seen your dust trail and were closing as fast as they could. Your railgun greatly outranged their smoothbores, but you also knew that there was a chance that the shot could be defeated by the proto-plating they were sporting from this far away. You had to let them close to under a klik. Something you weren't too fond of.

“One point one, sir. Looks like our favorite pair of knuckleheads.” Nicky says from behind his firing position. His new helmet did most of the work for him, laying out a sure-hit firing solution, but he still liked to work from behind the scopes.

“Aw shit, these two clowns again? Didn't we already spank the shit out of them?” You ask.

You watch as the two tank aces from the 77th Armored Regiment close on you, their distinctive unit insignias freshly painted onto the front of their turrets. Both had proven themselves in Europe, having been sent over to beef up the lines and attempt to counterattack the Russians in certain areas. They both had plenty of victories racked up, and were both crewed by very professional and expert troopers.

Except they didn't have your crew. You knew they didn't stand a chance, technology or no.

“Guess they don't know when to quit, sir.”

“Or something dumb like that. Once they're within nine hundred meters, give 'em a shot.”

“Yessir. Be about another seven seconds.”

You place a hand on your screen, flipping it to the targetting computer. Seeing exactly what Nicky sees helped you to get a feel for what your boy thinks. He slowly, expertly adjusted the crosshair until it was just between the turret and the hull of the Abrams before reaching for the trigger.

Only he didn't fire just yet.

At the last possible moment, the Abrams swung to the left, it's turret tracking you perfectly. It's wingman, also placing it's gun directly on you, pushed out to the right. Nicky didn't lose a beat. The crosshair stayed perfectly on his initial target, taking terrain into effect. He gave it a millimeter or so of lead, and pulled the trigger.

The railgun popped with magical energy, firing it's simunition round. You watch on the screen as the round nearly instantly slams directly into the target – exactly where Nicky aimed it.

“One down sir.”

“Great shot Nicky! One in a million. Hans! Get us mobile!” You say, just before a simunition shell slams into the Achillies' shield. Your MSC gasps, prompting you to look down.

“You ok?”

“Yes sir! Just needed to catch my breath!” She repiles, settling in her seat.

The tank lurches forward, smashing the bushes below you into the ground. Hans quickly has it up to it's cross country speed, pushing the twin turbine engines to the maximum safe limit. You bounce along in your seat, watching the countryside on your turret walls. Getting used to the COFFIN system was going to take some time, especially since you're still used to the old viewports in the Abrams. Soon enough, you've disengaged and swung to the side of the second Abrams, giving Nicky a perfect profile shot.

However, just as he settles the shot, the vehicle's driver slams on the throttle and throws the vehicle into gear, sending a pillar of dirt and dust into the sky behind it. The turret turns to track you just as Hans guns his throttle, pressing you into your seat for a moment.

“Hans, it's Nicky. Give me ten seconds on a shallow angle and I'll have this guy for sure.”

“Ja, Ja herr Nikolas. Zehn seconds.”

You beam with pride as you notice your gunner and driver working without you. Most tank commanders have to act as an intermediary for them. You? All you have to do is spot and call targets.

Hans, being the professional that he is, shifts high and low to throw off the other vehicle's aim. Nicky, though, isn't thrown for a moment. He seems to know when Hans is going to brake, and when he's going to accelerate. You watch as the crosshair closes the gap slowly, then takes it's lead.

“Two more seconds and he's mine!” Nicky cries.

Hans slams on the brakes.

Michael closes the breech to the railgun and rolls away out of habit.

You smile wolfishly.

Nicky squeezes the trigger.

Sargeant Rockfield cheers.