Fall of Cleveland: Tanks For the Memories

>You are the commander of an M1A2 Abrams.
>Through your optics, you look over the battlefield.
>Afghanistan?  Nope.
>Your four-tank platoon is parked on the Innerbelt Bridge, the part of I-90 that goes over the Cuyahoga.
>You can see Progressive Field across the river.
>It, like the rest of the city, is a wreck.
>In a perfect world, this bridge would not actually be here right now.
>Most of the bridges in Cleveland have been destroyed to prevent the fluffy plague from escaping.
>Unfortunately, all the loud noises caused them to try fleeing anyway.
>Their corpses have choked the river system, and now the area is flooding with a fetid brew of dead ponies and their unbelievably foul feces.
>Northern Command changed their strategy; since the fluffies weren't bothering to use the bridges, no point in blowing them up anymore.
>All the four lane bridges, like this one, and the Carnegie Avenue Bridge half a klick north and west of you, were spared bombing.
>You're currently engaged in what 1st Armored Division calls a 'leak plugging' watch.
>The four vehicles in your platoon are tasked with stopping any attempt by the fluffy ponies to escape the rising waters by using this bridge.
>Backing you up are four Stryker Mobile Gun Systems from 3rd Battallion, 41st Infantry Regiment, an Army Stryker Brigade Combat Teams.
>You continue to look around for activity.
>”Damn, this is boring.”
>That would be your gunner complaining, as usual.
“I'd rather be deployed here than a place where the enemy actually shoots back.”
>That shuts him up, at least for a second.
>”Can't we just drive in there and run over the fucking things?”
>There's not enough oil in Saudi Arabia to power this tank long enough to run over nine-plus million fluffy ponies.
>On the radio, you hear the platoon commander, a Second Lieutenant right out of West Point, ask for a report.
“No targets in sight on I-90.”
>A few moments later, you hear that the tanks on Carnegie Avenue are engaging fluffies.
>You look through the optics again.
>Sure enough, a multicolored, living glacier is slowly making its way toward your position.
>”Man, I wanna go home.”
“Stop flapping your lips and get the sights on those ponies.”
>With a groan, the gunner begins actually doing his job.
>A white fluffy pony with a rainbow mane catches your attention.
>It's at the head of the pack; perhaps it's the leader.
“You see that one with the rainbow hair?”
>”Yeah, got the reticle on him now.”
>You call down to the loader.
“Canister.”
>He grabs a shell off the rack, pushes it into the open breech with his fist, then closes the breech block.
>”Round up!” he yells back.
>You belay giving the command to fire until the fuzzy blob closes the distance a bit more.
>You can't use high explosive, you might damage the bridge.
>Instead, the loader's put an M1028 into the gun.
>They're just about to begin crossing the bridge, almost two hundred meters away.
>Close enough.
“Fire!”
>The tank rocks as the gunner fires the gun, producing a solid thunk that vibrates both you and your crew.
>You watch through the optics.
>The fluffies barely have time to react to the noise, panicking and running in frightened circles.
>A large chunk of them suddenly disappear into a red cloud.
>The round just fired is a fragmenting canister full of over a thousand tungsten balls, ten millimeters in diameter.
>They fan out into a cone as they fly at a thousand meters a second.
>They could go through a Humvee; fluffy ponies offer barely more resistance than air.
>You detect three more thunks as the other tanks in your platoon fire.
>The fluffies are terrified, but they seem unwilling to go back.
>Probably scared of drowning.  They've surely seen the piles of corpses in the rivers.
>You can see them talking as they run around helplessly, but you've no idea what they're saying.
>Doesn't matter; time to shut a few more of them up permanently.
“Canister!”
>The round goes into the gun.  The gunner picks a distinctive fluffy.
>The gun goes thunk, and that fluffy, along with several hundred of its friends, ceases to be.
>The dumb little bastards have no idea what's happening.
>Instead of turning away from the loud noises and the bloody smears that used to be other fluffies, they run at full speed toward your platoon.
“Fire at will!”
>You hear smaller reports as the Strykers begin firing their 105s.
>They too have canister rounds, a design hastily scaled down from the 120s your tank uses.
>Each time you hear a gun go off, you see a cloud of red tear through the massive herd.
>They don't have any idea what to do, so they run.
>They're still coming.
>You cannot fire fast enough.
“We're gonna get overwhelmed!”
>You hear the Lieutenant call brigade headquarters for support.
>They call back and grant it.
“Driver, reverse.  Gunner, keep firing.”
>Your tank platoon begins to retreat slowly, still shooting.
>The Strykers, having automatically loaded cannons, provide 'covering' fire while you move.
>You're backing up because you don't want to die in the upcoming fire.
>As you move, you decide to open the hatch and get a good view of the show.
>Fluff ponies are backed up forever on the other side of the river.
>It takes about ten minutes before you see the F-16s coming from the south.
>By now, everyone's backed way up, including the Strykers.  You're at least three hundred meters from the bridge.
>With the loud noises having stopped, the fluffies are confident enough to try crossing the bridge in an orderly fashion.
>They stream across just as the F-16s drop their payload.
>The Mark 77 bombs plow into the fluffy clump and detonate.
>A few fluffies go flying through the air.  They're the lucky ones.
>The rest are engulfed in a mixture of kerosene, white phosphorus, and a classified oxidizing agent.
>They burst into flames immediately.
>You watch them burn through a pair of binoculars.
>You can just barely hear the pops of exploding fluffy ponies.
>Even some of the Stryker crews have gotten out to watch.
>The fire is what finally breaks the will of the herd to press on; you can see the ones in the back start waddling into the city.
>They've decided drowning is better than catching on fire.
>You all stick around to make sure the fire doesn't get too far out of control.
>The flames exhaust the screaming, crying fuel fairly quickly.
>It's not windy, but you check for floating embers, as well as damage to the bridge.
>Doesn't look too bad, at least not from here.
>Maybe the stench of burned fluffy flesh will keep them from trying to cross here again.
>Actually, it kind of smells like an MRE, and you're hungry.
>You duck back into the turret and ask the loader where he's stowed them.