James had just stepped out onto the porch from dinner.  He scowled as he watched the rabbit light his pipe.  Almost instinctively he checked the direction of the wind, his mind already calculating a course past them that would offend his sensitive nose the least. 

Sylvia had assured herself that her children were busy cleaning the tables, and doing the dishes.  Taking a moment, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she stepped onto the porch.  Most of the guests had wandered off, but a few were still there, sitting and talking.  She looked at the rabbit and the lion, just sitting there, and again thought to herself what a strange pair they were, almost like brothers.  John caught her gaze and raised an eyebrow in a silent question.  Sylvia just smiled; “I was just looking at the two of you sitting there.  You look so……. comfortable, I guess, in each other’s presence.”  John just nodded, as Hank’s right ear drooped, bending in the middle, in some arcane signal that probably only another rabbit would understand.  Sylvia shook her head; “you know, I’ve never asked, but I take it you two have known each other for a long, long time.  How did you ever come to meet, anyways?” 

Hank shook his head and still looking out over the lagoon, chuckled; “it was ages ago.  Back during the war.  I was a platoon sergeant, and Furball over there was a freshly minted second lieutenant…..”  John chuckled and looked at the rabbit; “Its hard to imagine that I was EVER so young……”  Taking a sip of his brandy, John turned to look at Sylvia as he began the story…… 

Hank and what was left of his platoon crouched in the bushes by the side of a road. Eight of them.  Only eight remaining……  It was a gray, drizzly day, the clouds hanging low in the rocky hills.  The sun was well hidden behind the overcast that seemed to pervade your very soul, giving no indication if it was morning or evening.  Hank shook his head, droplets of water running off the back of his helmet and down the back of his neck.  It didn’t mater; he couldn’t get much wetter, or colder for that matter.  The enemy offensive had shattered the front line about 18 hours ago, and the situation was chaotic.  The main thrust had passed South, bypassing pockets of resistance, and leaving a confused mess in its wake.  There were pockets of troops everywhere, with no particular order.  Hank’s unit’s position had been overrun in the first hours of the fighting.  As fate would have it, his platoon had just moved into position on the side of the hill, the rest of the company occupying the floor of the little valley, and the far slope.  They hadn’t even had time to dig in properly.  They were light infantry, Airborne, highly trained, highly motivated, but not heavily armed.  The offensive had started with a massive artillery barrage, the shells playing havoc with his platoon.  They just hadn’t had time to construct the required overhead cover for their fighting positions……  Then what was left had folded almost immediately before the armored might of the offensive.  Hank didn’t even have a chance to affect the course of the battle from his position on the hillside, the few antitank missiles he had barely attracting the attention of the enemy.  But that attention had been enough.  A few tanks had been hit, and one of those even destroyed; the others, on the flank of the column pushing South, had fired back, probably more to just make them keep their heads down, or to spoil their aim……  The enemy tankers had probably figured the main battle would be further south, and were conserving their ammunition, and the thought that his unit wasn’t even worth shooting at made his blood boil.  Still, they’d done more damage than Hank had been happy with.  Now he’d collected what survivors he could find, and they were moving South, in the wake of the enemy advance, seeking a way to regroup, to rejoin their forces, to make a contribution to the battle.  As they crouched by the side of the road the noise of an approaching vehicle was growing louder….. and it sounded like a tank! 

The lion squinted through the mist.  The tank was handling like shit, the road was slick, and his eyes were blurry.  It’d been a helluva day, the last 24 hours, and for his first day in combat, he wasn’t very pleased with his performance.  He’d joined up with the 23rd armored battalion only a week ago, and had been shoved straight into a tank platoon, replacing a lieutenant who’d gotten decapitated by an enemy tank round.  He’d scarcely learned the names of the troops under him, when their unit was ordered to counterattack the flank of the enemy’s assaulting forces.  The Freelands forces were collapsing over a broad front, and Division wanted to buy time to let their forces retreat and regroup.  And that meant throwing the occasional unit to the wolves, just to buy the time.  John had led his platoon towards the flank of the enemy assault, holding the left flank of the company formation.  There’d been no real plan, just find ‘em and start shooting, hoping to make them break formation, to deploy against them.  The time gained as the enemy changed formation, changed direction of assault, and then changed back to his original course would be the only gain, time bought dearly at the cost of a company of armor……..  But then just as they’d spotted the enemy at extreme range, artillery had fired on them.  The salvo of air scatterable mines was off target for most of the company, but near enough to affect John’s platoon.  The pattern had missed two of his tanks; the ones towards the rest of the company’s formation.  The third had been able to avoid the mines, weaving and dancing through the nasty little things, but John’s tank had been moving through some high grass, and they’d hit one, the left track breaking.  In the confusion, the other three tanks had not noticed what had happened, and had proceeded on with the attack.  Or maybe they’d just decided to keep up with the rest of the company…..  Attempts to contact them over the radio showed that the enemy was using white noise jamming.  The other tanks literally didn’t know someone was trying to call to them.  Helplessly, the lion watched as they disappeared from view. 

They were busy trying to fix the track, when things got even worse.  The front left roadwheel had been blown off by the mine, and they were forced to reconnect the track as if it had never been there.  This left the tank nose down on the left, but it was all they could do.  John was under the tank, straining hard to pull the links into position; he was the largest in the crew, and as there was no room for pry bars under the tank it was obvious that he should be the one to try and horse the links into position from that side…….  Then another artillery salvo opened up, the canister rounds breaking open to scatter baseball sized bomblets.  Steel rain, it was called.  The first warning anyone had was when the explosions started and by then it was too late.  Way too late.  Three bomblets landed on top of the tank, blowing off antennas, wrecking sensors, and turning anything that wasn’t heavily armored into shredded metal.  John’s gunner died instantly, the bomblets blowing him nearly in half, but the driver, crouched over tugging at a pry bar, was thrown against the tank, his back peppered with shrapnel.  The poor raccoon screamed and writhed, until John could crawl out from under the tank, to try and calm him down.  His back was a bloody mess, and it looked like the shrapnel had penetrated his lungs and his kidneys.   Not knowing what else to do, John gave him a shot of morphine to kill the pain, and then bandaged him as best he could, struggling with the still writhing form.  Sliding him down through the gunner’s hatch, John had to give him another morphine shot, to keep him still.  He’d never felt so helpless; he wanted to ease his crewman’s suffering, but didn’t know how…..  Climbing back out of the tank, he finished mending the track by himself, and then turned the tank back to the South to try and find an aid station.  The bomblets had severely damaged the tank, but most of the critical systems were heavily armored and it still ran…… kinda.  As he drove off, he realized that he too was bleeding in a dozen places.  The track and roadwheels of the tank had sheltered him from the schrapnel, but not completely……..  The worst was a bad cut across his brow.  The sweat he thought was running into his eyes wasn’t just sweat. 

Hank straightened a little as he recognized the tank as one of theirs.  It was a standard main battle tank, a turretless design that housed the crew in the hull, behind the engine, with the automated, armored main gun rotating behind them.  And it looked like it’d been through the meatgrinder, too, its hull blackened and scarred, odd pieces of twisted metal standing out at strange angles.  Considering all the shredded metal around the main gun, Hank was afraid this thing was probably defenseless.  With a sigh, Hank shook his head; whatever shape it was in, it was still moving, and therefor it would let them ride for a while.  And with increased speed, it might just see them safe to their own lines, wherever that might be, instead of captured.  Standing, he stepped out of the bushes to flag it down. 

John saw the figure rise from the grass at the side of the road, and in an instant, thought it was an enemy soldier with an antitank weapon.  His paws tightened on the driving bar, and he almost slewed the tank in his direction, to use the only weapon available to him.  To run him down.  Then, through his blurry vision, he recognized the uniform; he was with the Freelands forces.  With a sigh, he took his foot off the gas, and let the tank roll to a stop.  For a long moment he just stared at the soldier, unable to think of anything to say…….. 

Hank looked at the driver; he was a young lion, his mane trimmed to military specifications… where it wasn’t burned away.  He had blood encrusted here and there, but the most disturbing thing was the look in his eyes.  He looked like a hunted animal backed into a corner, a look that bespoke something close to panic…… or rage.  “Hey, buddy” the rabbit began; “I got some troops here that would sure like a ride to the regroup point……. And I think we might both do better if we traveled together…. Might increase our chances.”  The lion stared at him for a moment, almost as if he hadn’t heard his words, and then slowly his head nodded.  “I’ve got a wounded crewman; I need to find him an aid station.  That’s my first priority, but yes, you’re right, we’ll do better together.  Have your men climb on board, Sergeant” he rumbled with a deep voice. 

As Hank waved his troops out of the bushes, and they started climbing onto the tank, Hank thought about the way the lion had said that…… especially the way he said “Sergeant.”  Could this cat be an officer? 

The tank rumbled South at about 30 kilometers per hour, the infantry clinging to its deck.  Hank had stuck his head into one of the hatches only to come face to face with the wounded driver.  The raccoon was unconscious, which was probably just as well.  Looking around, the rabbit realized that he knew little about the tank’s controls, and that there really wasn’t room for anyone to ride down there anyways.  Especially if the lion had to shift to the gunner’s station in a hurry.  They were following a secondary road.  Two lanes of asphalt winding through the hills.  Despite the fact that they were taking a “back road”, the signs of the fighting were evident.  A burned out vehicle here, a destroyed farmhouse there.  Shell craters and debris.  The lion drove smoothly around all the obstructions in the road, even moving over onto the shoulder, to charge down an embankment, and across a small stream, where the fighting had taken out a small bridge.  The whine of the turbine and the clatter of the tracks made it too noisy to talk. 

Something had hit the road hard.  There was a shell crater a couple of dozen meters away, but here the roadway had simply dropped about a foot and a half.  Perhaps it had been overpressure from a fuel-air explosive......  For whatever reason, the break was there, and coming from the high side, John just didn’t see it until the tank was almost on top of it.  It was too late to stop, and had the tank been whole, it would have ridden it out without a problem.  However, the left track was weak, and its suspension screwed up from the mine, and as they went over that lip of asphalt, the left track broke.  Luckily, John had been going slowly anyway, concerned about the state of their running gear, and when he saw the break, John had taken his foot off the gas.  When the tank slewed to the left, it wasn’t near as bad as it could have been, and only one of the infantrymen went flying. 

The lion heaved himself from the driver’s compartment, and slid down the front slope of the tank’s armor.  Moving around to the left side he stared at the twisted track for a moment, and then wordlessly went to the sponson boxes over the fenders to start assembling the tools needed to repair the track.  Hank watched for a moment and then sent two of his soldiers back the way they’d came, to watch for pursuit, and another two further down the road to watch in that direction as well.  Turning to the lion, he noticed for the first time the 2nd Lieutenant’s insignia on his collar.  “Uh, Lieutenant, what can we do to help?”  The lion grunted as he bent to insert a large piece of folded fabric under the frame of the tank; “when I get this side lifted, and it’ll be a while, you get your troops to pull the track free.  Lay it out in front of the tank, and I’ll check the connectors.  Then we’ll drive forward over it, until we can get the end hooked over the drive sprocket at the back.  We keep the free end on the return rollers until we can connect the two ends together again.  Then we get back on the road.”  Hank shook his head; “How long do you think this is gonna take?”  The lion shrugged; “with a trained crew, not more than 45 minutes to an hour.  With just me, and a little of your help, maybe 90 minutes……”  Hank groaned; “I don’t think we can just sit here for that long; its not safe!  Lets just ditch the tank and head cross country on foot.”  The lion just shook his head; “we’ll move faster in the long run with the tank, and I don’t want to abandon it.  Even in the shape its in, it gives us a serious edge over whomever we might run across.  I’m staying.  Go if you feel you have to; maybe I’ll catch up with you.” 

The rabbit took another puff on his pipe, and looked up at the lion as he sat on the porch rail; “you know, I don’t remember being that interested in ditching our “ride”……  The lion just shrugged; “maybe not; time clouds things like that; but right or wrong, that’s the way I remember it.”  After taking a sip of his brandy, the lion continued his tale…… 

Hank just sighed and turned to scan the mist-shrouded hills, looking for signs of trouble, making no move to leave.  The lion connected a piece of tubing from a connection near the engine compartment to the bundle of fabric he’d stuffed under the tank.  Climbing up the front slope, to stick his head into the driver’s hatch, he hit a button and the high pitched whine of the turbine changed slightly.  Slowly the fabric under the tank started to inflate.  Looking at the rabbit, he rumbled; “compressed air from the turbine’s first stage.  It’ll blow up the “jack” and with luck, raise the tank’s roadwheels off the twisted broken track.  It’s a good system; works whether you’re on hard pavement or soft ground.”  The lion watched the bag slowly inflate for a few minutes and then grunted; “if we didn’t have that, we’d have to be towed off this mess, and in doing so, we’d mess up the track worse than it is now.  Without help, we’d have a REAL hard time getting going again.”  Hank just nodded.  Thinking it might be good to keep the lion talking, Hank asked; “what happened to you?”  The lion just grunted, as he waited, obvioulsy impatiently, for the tank’s roadwheels to lift clear of the ground; “Mine broke a track and the platoon went on without us.  Radios were jammed, and couldn’t call to them.  Then artillery.  BAD day.”  Hank just nodded. 

They’d straightened the track out in front of the tank, the soldiers grunting, heaving, moving as fast as they could, eager to be gone.  John had gone over the track quickly, replacing links here and there, where it had been damaged.  Finally he dropped down into the driver’s compartment, to gun the engine, slowly creeping forward, until the tank’s left roadwheels rested on the broken track.  Dropping down to the ground, he ran to the back of the tank, to heave the end of the tread up, hooking the last two tread blocks into the drive sprocket.  Again, inching forward, Hank guided the loose end onto the return rollers, until the tread hung loosely over the front idler.  Stopping the tank once again, and jumping down, John grabbed the lower end of the tread, heaving it up, holding it until one of the soldiers could slide the end connector pin in, connecting the two ends of the track.  John rapidly checked the tread, adjusting here and there, and then with a nod, signaled Hank to have them mount up again. 

As they started down the road, stopping to pick up the two lookouts Hank had dispatched in that direction, Hank again stuck his head in the hatch to check the wounded driver.  As he feared, the poor slob had died.  Turning, he looked at the lion’s back and wondered if he should tell him….  “If we lash the body to the back of the tank, I can get two of my troops sheltered in here” he thought to himself.  Then, as he looked around the blackened top of the tank he shook his head; “No, I think I’d rather be out here where I can bail out if need be, than in that steel coffin.  I’ll let him hold the illusion his crewman’s still alive, for the time being……” 

The tank was only moving about 30 KPH, and Hank’s head came up as it suddenly slowed, the turbine dying to a comparatively quiet whine.  Shifting, he looked forwards to where the lion’s head was sticking out of the driver’s hatch.  The lion was just staring ahead, as if he could read their fortunes in the swirling mist…..  Hank waited patiently, and after a minute, the lion’s head turned; “somethings up ahead.  I don’t know what it is, but it might be prudent if you dismounted.  I’ll drive forward until I can make out what we’ve got, and if it’s the enemy, I’ll engage them by fire while you escape.  As soon as you’re clear, I’ll reverse, and back the tank off.”  Hank took a look down the misty road and then he saw it; tire tracks on the surface of the road, not yet slicked over by the falling rain.  Wheeled vehicles had passed this way, and recently.  Nodding he gestured for his troops to dismount; “Rodgers, Tarkas, Halfner, and Blain; right side of the road; the rest of you, with me on the left.  Stay even with the tank.”  John watched and when the infantry was in position, he eased the tank forward. 

There’s no quiet way to move a tank.  They make noise.  Even the ones called the “whispering death” make more noise than a truck.  However, the enemy logistics column stopped on the side of the road was not expecting a FREELANDS tank to come up behind them.  The officer striding down the road to see what unit was coming up behind him, map in hand, looked more like he was coming to ask directions than to evaluate a threat.  He died with a surprised look on his face as one of Hank’s troopers shot him. 

As the column of trucks came into view, the lion stopped the tank and squirmed back into the gunner’s seat.  The controls were  a mass of red lights.  Thermal viewer inoperable.  Low Light TV inoperable.  Gyrostabilizer inoperable.  Laser rangefinder inoperable.  And so on.  However the simple “iron” sights, the telescope with the crosshairs, had survived, and he was too close to worry about range.  The autoloader functioned smoothly, shoving an HE round into the gun tube, and the injectors hissed as they filled the firing chamber with the binary liquid propellant.  The enemy was just beginning to panic, the lead truck starting to move when the main gun roared, and the lead truck exploded in a ball of flame.  The wreckage landed half across the road, making the second truck in the column swerve.  The second round took it broadside, the secondary explosions of what must have been ammunition setting the third truck in the column on fire.  Throwing the switch from main gun to coax (coaxial machine gun, the tank’s secondary armament), the lion methodically shot up the rest of the trucks until the column was a blazing inferno.  As he worked, he marveled at how calm he was; he’d thought he’d be filled with rage, or with the “joy of the hunt” or possibly remorse for the lives he was taking, but to his surprise he felt nothing as he swept his weapons across the convoy.  By the time he was done, scant minutes later, any survivors from the convoy had long since disappeared into the woods on the far side of the column.  The main gun hunted back and forth for a moment, searching, and then the lion centered it, and squirmed back into the driver’s seat. 

The road was blocked with wrecked and burning vehicles, but they did little to impede the tank’s progress, its blunt prow pushing them out of the way.  Hank and his troops joined up on the far side of the column, and silently mounted up.  At a nod from Hank, the lion turned his head back around to face front, and they drove off, the fires crackling behind them, as the occasional round of ammunition cooked off. 

The rain had started again, the droplets in the air shifting from a fine mist, to a light rain, to something heavier.  The lion drove onwards, perhaps a bit more slowly, but never stopping, until a railroad overpass emerged from the gloom ahead.  It was an old style overpass, with the bridge forming a short tunnel, its walls made of large blocks of stone, the roof curved overhead.  There was a significant embankment above the “bridge”, the road dipping down through the “tunnel.”  Hank was a little surprised when the Lion brought the tank to a stop there, in the growing puddle of water, but was not about to object.  Rising stiffly, he gestured for two troopers to watch the way they’d come and two more to watch the other end of the tunnel.  The lion struggled to pull himself from the driver’s hatch, and then turned to look at the rabbit; “how’s my driver?  Is he hanging in there?”  The rabbit just shook his head; “He died quietly a while back.  Nothing we could do.”  John just nodded sadly; “Had to try.  Had to try and get him some help, but the way he was bleeding…..”  The lion sagged, leaning against the side of the tank, seeming to deflate; “I just couldn’t get him to stop screaming…..  I gave him some morphine and that quieted his writhings, but he wouldn’t stop screaming…..  He must have had those little pieces of wire shrapnel all through his back.  Every motion must have been torture.”  Hank nodded, wordlessly.  What could he say?  Odds were that through this campaign, most of them would die too. 

Hank had his troops pass around the field rations they had, and they spent a few minutes eating and stretching muscles.  The lion ambled out into the rain to relieve himself, and then returned to crawl back into the tank.  The tactical data terminal was inactive, its antenna shot away, but it still held the maps, and the Lion spent some time studying them.  After a while, Hank dropped his pack to squeeze into the tank to look at the maps over the lion’s shoulder. 

“We’re already well past the Regimental rally point” Hank growled.  The lion nodded; “we passed that about an hour ago.  Nothing there.  Zilch.  I doubt the Division command post is where it was before the attack started; they’ve got to have displaced by now.  The only thing I can think of to do is to continue to head south until we find either our own troops, or the fighting.”  Hank nodded, and then shook his head; “how’s the fuel holding out?”  John winced; “not good.  Enough for a few more hours, but then we’re walkin’.  I watched for a fuel truck back with that convoy, but there wasn’t one.  That I would have spared….”  Hank squinted again at the map; “looks like the next big hurdle is the Ocmulghe river.  John nodded; “Yeah.  Think we’ll have some fun at the bridge there.”  Hank just nodded. 

The rain had let up by the time they drove out from under the railroad embankment.  As they drove south, the mists cleared, and then the overcast relented somewhat.  They never saw the stars, but the clouds were obviously not hanging so low.  One of the problems with tanks is you can’t hear approaching aircraft, and their first warning was a beeping inside the tank.  The Lion howled and twisted the steering rod, sending them bouncing roughly across a field.  Light blossomed behind them, followed by the shock wave of an explosion.  Hank craned his neck as something dark flashed through the skies behind them, following the path of the road. 

The lion jerked the tank back and forth, the infantry having difficulty hanging on.  As the warning sensor started beeping again, he held a straight line, and then at the last minute slammed on the brakes, only to jam the tank in reverse, backing hurriedly.  Hank howled as he was slammed forward into the housing for the main gun, and then shut his eyes tight as the ground just in front of the tank erupted.  The missiles were getting closer, as the pilot of the unseen aircraft grew used to the Lion’s evasive maneuvers. 

As the dust cloud settled, the tank’s exhauts started belching choking clouds of white smoke.  The tracks spun, throwing clods of dirt every which way as the lion pointed the tank at the nearest tree line.  Zigging and zagging, the turbine screamed as he pushed it for all it was worth.  His scream of “HANG ON” was lost in the night as the tank slammed full speed into the forest.  As they came to rest against the bole of a large pine tree, its trunk now tilted at a 60 degree angle, the entrance to the forest, 30 yards behind them exploded in fury once again. 

They crouched at the edge of the forest, watching the dark skies, listening.  The lion had backed the tank up a dozen meters, to then weave his way between the larger trees at a more prudent pace, finally stopping some 50 yards into the forest.  From time to time, after he’d shut down the engine, the scream of the aircraft, passing low overhead was heard, but they never saw it.  Finally, all was quiet, and they waited to see if it would come back, to see if it would direct ground forces towards them. 

“I don’t think they’re coming back” the lion rumbled.  Hank just nodded; “they can only stay “on station” for so long; he’s probably short on fuel now, and headed home to hot chow, a hot shower and a warm bunk.  Zoomies.”  One of the troopers grumbled; “think it was one of ours?”  John just shrugged; “could have been.  In conditions like this, I doubt they’d be able to tell one tank from another.”  The soldiers just shrugged, and John rose, to work at backing the tank out of the woods. 

The village was small; just a single street with one and two story wood and cement block buildings on either side.  It was nestled in a little divide, the hills rising steeply behind the few buildings.  John looked at it through his binoculars and shook his head, passing the binoculars to the Sergeant.  “I got a bad feeling about this” he rumbled.  To all outward appearances the place was deserted.  On the other hand, two platoons could be hiding in those buildings, with a battalion in the surrounding hills.  It was a great defensive location.  The rabbit took another look at the map, and then peered at the village again through the Lion’s binoculars.  “Too far to go around, not that we’d find much better anywhere else, I suspect.  And crossing the hills by foot would be hard.”  The lion just nodded; “I’m tempted to just try and make a mad dash through there, but lets face it, they’ll hear us coming long before we get there.  And that might lead to anything from antitank rockets to satchel charges at arm’s length range.  How about reconnaissance by fire?  I could put an HE round into that two story building on the left.  If there’s anyone home, we’d know it real soon.”  Hank sighed.  “Yeah, but what if there’s civilians in there?  And if the enemy doesn’t hold the place, they’re sure to know we’re here.  No, I think me ‘n the boys are going to go check the place out.  If there’s anyone home, you can support us by fire from here.  And cover our retreat if need be.”  The lion just nodded. 

They snuck through the mud and the dark, slowly closing on the village.  So far everything was peaceful…. Reaching the first building, two of Hank’s troopers dashed inside, while the others moved down the left side of the street, trying to watch everywhere at once.  The first building proved to be deserted, and they were moving towards the second when a door opened on the opposite side of the street.  An enemy soldier emerged, a roll of toilet paper in his right hand, his rifle in his left.  It was obvious that he was heading for the outhouse in back….  For a moment they stared at each other, and then all hell broke loose.  The soldier let out a yell, just as one of Hank’s troopers opened up with his assault rifle, blowing the enemy soldier back through the door he’d just emerged through.  The trooper with the grenade launcher let fly and a moment later the windows of the building blew out with the explosion.  Hank directed his troops to occupy the two buildings nearest them on the left side of the street, just as sporadic gunfire started from the next building down on the right side of the street. 

John sighed as he watched the firefight start; “I hate it when I’m right like that” he grumbled to himself.  Taking a careful look around the horizon, making sure no other enemy was lurking nearby, he dropped down into his tank, to lean forward against the gunner’s sight. 

The building Hank had charged into was full of sleeping enemy soldiers, just starting to rouse from the shooting.  Grabbing the trooper that had followed him in, Hank shoved him towards the back door, hastily arming and dropping a grenade as he ran. 

The third building down the right side of the street was starting to pour sustained fire across the street….. until the HE round from the tank’s main gun exploded on the first floor.  The second round caused the entire building to collapse.  Shifting to the driver’s seat, John started the tank towards the village at the speed of a slow walk.  As an explosion blew out the windows of one of the buildings on the left hand side of the street, John wondered if that rabbit had just bought it.  As irritating as the lepine had been, he kinda hoped he was OK….. 

Hank jerked his trooper out the back door just as the building behind him exploded, the shock wave shoving him face first into the mud.  Rising, he tossed another grenade through the door, just to be sure.  Then he hauled his trooper to his feet, and shoved him towards the back door of the building nextdoor. 

The firefight was short, and sharp, as so many of them are.  After a while, the lion had to stop the tank, several hundred meters from the village, as he could no longer tell where the rabbit’s troopers were.  He watched through his gunsight for targets of opportunity, waiting patiently. 

Hank burst through the door, and as the two enemy soldiers crouched at the far window turned, he triggered a burst from his assault rifle, cutting them both down.  And then he was through another door, moving to clear the building, room by room, and then building after building.  Finally the village, or what was left of it, was secure.  One of his troops had been killed, another wounded.  “Down to six effectives” he grumbled, and sent a runner to tell the lieutenant to bring up the tank. 

The lion stopped the tank in the middle of the street, and looked around.  Two of the buildings were burning, and that meant they’d have to leave in a hurry.  The smoke would never be seen in the overcast, but the thermal bloom on infrared sensors could be seen through the fog and mist.  As he looked about, something caught his eye, and he hopped down from the tank to check it out.  There in the corner building at the end of the street, was a laser guided antitank guided missile launcher.  Turning, he caught view of another emplacement at the other end of the street.  If he’d tried to just dash through town, they’d been killed.  Looking up at the rabbit, he grinned; “I guess infantry do have their uses….”  The rabbit just groaned and shook his head. 

The road ended abruptly.  The bridge was no longer there.  It was as if some giant hand had just come down from the heavens and snatched it away.  The dark rushing water of the rain swollen stream showed no trace of its presence, no visible wreckage.  The banks of the river were too steep to try and ford it with the tank, and the current much too swift.  And to top it all, it had started raining again.  “That’s it” the rabbit growled.  “From here, we swim the stream, and walk.”  The lion looked up from the map; “there’s a railroad bridge to the west.  It might still be there.”  The rabbit looked back in exasperation; “if its there, IF its still there, it’d be knee deep in the enemy.  There’s no way we could fight our way through them.”  The lion just shrugged; “Sergeant, if you think its best for your men to ford the river and walk south, good luck.  I’m not going to abandon my tank just yet; I’m going to check out the railroad bridge.  If I make it across, I’ll look for you on the other side.”  The rabbit just shook his head; “you are one suicidal son of a….. Oh, never mind.  Yeah, we’ll watch for you on the other side.”  With that, the rabbit gathered his troops and started moving down towards the swiftly moving water. 

Hank chuckled around his pipestem; “you know, I don’t remember you being so willing to let us go our own way….”  John just chuckled, took another sip of his brandy and shrugged; “however it happened, you did ford the river, didn’t you?”  The rabbit just nodded and the lion resumed his story……. 

Rodgers, the otter, had stripped nude, with one end of the rope tied around his waist.  Nodding to the Sergeant, he slipped into the swiftly moving water, swimming powerfully towards the other side.  Hank watched as the rope paid out, praying they had enough to reach the far side.  Finally he saw the otter climb exhaustedly up onto a rock, well downstream, but on the opposite side.  Before too long, they at least had a handhold to help the heavily laden troopers cross the river.  Their wounded man would be another story, though……. 

John peered over the earthen berm of the railroad embankment.  He’d left the tank, reluctantly, at the edge of the small town, to scout ahead on foot.  “Why did the bastard have to be right” he grumbled as he looked at the enemy checkpoint.  The lion watched as a truck moved across the bridge, heading North, only to stop at a signal from a rhino in an MP’s uniform.  The driver, a mouse, appeared to be explaining rapidly, his arms waving, but after a minute, one of the MP’s reached up to drag him from the driver’s seat.  The still arguing mouse was thrust to the side of the road, where the MP’s officer put a pistol to the back of his head, and casually shot him.  One of the MP’s then climbed into the truck, to drive it off the bridge, parking it to one side.  Shaking his head, the lion winced; “Poor devil.  I bet he was acting on verbal orders, or maybe orders issued over a radio, and didn’t have the paperwork to back up his movement North.  The MP’s assumed he was a coward, deserting the battle and just shot him.”  After a moment the lion grinned; “well, with any luck, he was sent by his commanding officer to get more ammo.  I’d like to think that somewhere there’s an enemy unit waiting on the truck to return, full of ammo….”  Settling down, the lion growled as an enemy self propelled artillery battery stopped at the check point.  They were headed South however, and after only a cursory examination of their orders by the MP’s they were waved through the checkpoint.  “Supplies and reinforcements……” the Lion thought to himself; “If I could plug that flow, it’d sure help the guys fighting in the South….”  Sliding back down the berm, he looked around, and nodded, forming a plan of action. 

He was halfway back to the tank when he heard voices.  Ducking into a shattered doorway, its door hanging by one hinge, he watched as two of the enemy military policemen walked by.  Obviously they were patrolling the little town.  And the direction they were heading would take them straight to his tank!  John hefted his SMG, and then lowered it.  Gunfire would only bring more enemy troops running.  Reluctantly, he slung the weapon across his back, and pulled his fighting knife.  As he slipped from his hiding place, to follow them, he picked up a broken brick, and a short length of wood….. 

He had to make his move now; one more corner to turn and they’d see the tank.  Quickening his pace, moving as quietly as he could over the rubble strewn street, he shifted the brick to his right hand, and from a distance of about three meters, threw it as hard as he could at the smaller of the two figures.  The brick hit the weasel on the back of the neck, just below the brim of his helmet, and with an “OOF” he went down, on his face.  His partner, a Leopard, turned with a snarl, bringing his assault rifle up.  John whacked the barrel as hard as he could with the piece of wood, sending the weapon flying from the startled soldier’s grip.  However, as he stepped in to try and stab with his knife, his foot slipped on a piece of rubble, and he almost went down.  By the time he had recovered, he found the Leopard had pulled his own knife.  Crouching, the enemy soldier grinned at him, and made a small “come-on” gesture.  “Oh Great” John thought to himself; “I’d have to get the one that fancies himself a knife fighter.....”  John circled, trying to get between the Leopard and his weapon, trying to also keep an eye on the weasel.  As he tried to look in several different directions at the same time, the Leopard charged.  John started to sidestep but wasn’t fast enough, the leopard’s knife skidding off his ribs, on the left side.  That brought the Leopard close, and they grappled; each holding the knife-hand of the other.  John’s side was bleeding heavily and he knew he’d have to do something quickly…..  They circled, and “danced” for a moment, each trying to kick the feet out from under their opponent, each seeking an advantage, or an opening..  Then John growled, and jerked his head down, to smash his forehead against his opponent’s sensitive nose.  It was just enough of a distraction to let him trip the Leopard, knocking him backwards, to land heavily on top of him.  Unable to wrench his knife-hand from the Leopard’s grip, he followed his instincts and buried his fangs in the Leopard’s throat.  The noise the enemy soldier made, as his throat was savaged, as the blood welled up and flooded his throat, were terrible to behold, but finally the wet burbling noises ceased and he was still.  John rose slowly, to look down at his defeated enemy, and then turned to one side to throw up. 

The Weasel was unconscious, and John just left him there, not having the heart to kill so helpless a foe. 

The tank stopped just behind the berm.  John had found a place where the railroad embankment was just right, the gun of the tank above the top of the embankment, the rest of the tank hidden.  “Hull down” it was called, and it was a favored fighting position for tankers….. as long as the enemy didn’t have guns powerful enough to blow straight through the embankment AND through the tank.  And unfortunately, those did exist.  Shifting to the gunner’s seat, he winced as the thick field dressing over his ribs shifted, and he felt blood trickle downwards.  Trying to concentrate, John looked through the gunsight.  He watched as a column of enemy armored recovery vehicles moved off the bridge, the clatter of their tracks having masked the sound of his approach.  Shifting the gun a little to the left, he licked his still bloody lips and took aim on his first target…. 

They were moving single file through the dark forest.  It had started raining again, and Rodgers, the otter, with his oily, water-repellant fur was probably  the only one not soaked to the skin.  When the first sounds of firing were heard, they all instinctively dropped to cover.  After a moment, it became obvious that the sounds were a ways to the west.  Hank sighed and shook his head; “Damn Fool Lion found the bridge, I guess.”  The troopers turned, to look at him expectantly, and after a moment he sighed again and nodded; “I guess we’d better go see whats going on.”  Gesturing, he sent the point man towards the west, the rest of the group following in column. 

John grinned ferally  as he triggered another burst of coax fire at the bridge, his fangs gleaming whitely in the greenish light of the tank’s fighting compartment.  The MP’s might make good bullies for their own rear-area troops, but they were not trained, nor armed to handle something like him.  The ATGM they had was a flaming wreck, its sandbagged position blown to hell.  The parked trucks, jeeps, and other light vehicles had all been destroyed.  The building by the bridge with the machine gun on the second floor had been reduced to kindling.  He fired controlled bursts at everything that moved, until he was certain they’d all run off.  Until he just couldn’t find anything else to kill.  Finally, with a growl, he slid over to the driver’s station, to drive the tank up, and over the embankment, heading for the bridge. 

Hank came forward at the point man’s gesture.  They’d found the railroad South of the river, but there was a problem.  A mechanized repair unit consisting of a half dozen armored recovery vehicles had stopped, their crews obviously taking a break.  Gesturing for his troops to spread out, the Sergeant prepared to assault them, hoping the surprise would outweigh the superior numbers of the enemy. 

 John yelped as an enemy MP stepped around the corner of the building, the shoulder launched rocket propelled grenade pointed right at him.  There was no time to shift to the gunner’s seat; there was only one thing to do.  Jerking the tank to the right, he floored the accelerator, and charged the enemy.  Not very many people are brave enough to aim calmly with 50 tons of tank headed right for them, but this guy was good, firing the grenade seconds before he was run down.  The grenade hit the glacis, the frontal sloped armor of the tank, exploding with a roar.  John swung the tank hard left, the right side of the tank scraping the corner of the building, even as the treads tore the RPG gunner to bloody chunks.  He was twenty meters down the street, before he realized he was still alive; the thick armor had been too much for the shaped charge of the RPG.  With shaking paws, he directed the tank up and onto the railroad tracks, to drive across the bridge. 

Hank’s troops rushed the enemy unit, the rainy mist aiding them as they enveloped the first armored recovery vehicle, its crew cut down where they stood as they tried to warm some field rations.  Moving up either side of the column, the veteran infantry rapidly gunned down the enemy, until none were left.  Armored recovery vehicles are critical in modern warfare.  Very few tanks knocked out in battle cannot be repaired, and good recovery and repair can often get whole units that had previously been “destroyed” back into the fight.  As they took stock after the assault, Hank was saddened to find that another of his troopers had been hit, this one in the stomach.  The squirrel moaned and writhed, until they were able to pump him full of enough morphine to ease him into unconsciousness.  They’d need to find him a doctor, and soon, or he wouldn’t make it.  “Five effectives,” the Sergeant muttered. 

John stopped the tank at a bend in the railroad, about a quarter mile from the bridge.  Moving in behind the berm, he sighted the main gun right down the track, and sat back to wait.  While he waited, he changed the bandage on his side, pulling on a fresh tunic from his pack.  If he ran across the rabbit again, he didn’t want him to know that he’d had “problems”…..  As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait long.  It was obvious that someone at the bridge must have radioed for help.  And sitting there like that had been a major gamble; help could have come from the North or the South, and had it been from the South, he would have been in  a much worse situation.  But the forest on either side of the tracks was thick, and as the enemy armored unit moved through the town, as they started across the bridge in pursuit, they had to form up into a line.  There was no way to flank him.  John waited until the first enemy tank was half way across the bridge before he fired, the armor piercing discarding sabot fin stabilized (APDSFS) round impacting the enemy tank just above where the gun emerged from the hull.  It was obvious as the smoke cleared that the gun was destroyed.  Now all he had to do was to stop the tank where it was, to block the bridge.  Easier said than done…. 

Hank heard the sharp crack of cannon fire from up the tracks, to the North.  Using hand signals he directed one man to stay with their two wounded, and leading the rest into the fringe of the woods on the west side of the track, he moved North, to see what was happening. 

John’s second round had hit the heavily armored glacis of the approaching enemy tank, and while it had left a glowing crater, it had done little more than to slow it down.  The third round, however, had hit the left tread sprocket, breaking the track.  The tank was now diagonal across the bridge, and from the looks of things, it was wedged in tight amongst the girders to either side.  With a bit more of a flank shot, the fourth round had penetrated the somewhat thinner armor of the side of the hull, just in front of the gun turret, causing the tank to explode into flames, its main gun flying upwards as its internal ammunition exploded.  “Take ‘em a while to clear THAT one” the lion grinned to himself.  Moving back into the driver’s seat, he hastily backed the tank away from the berm, doing a neutral steer to rotate the tank, and then driving as fast as he dared away from the bridge, before the enemy sent dismounted infantry after him.  He almost didn’t see the rabbit as he ran waving from the fringe of the woods. 

Hank shook his head in amazement.  The Lion had actually gotten the tank across the river.  Without a word, the lion popped the driver’s hatch, and stopped the tank so they could climb on.  As they stopped by the armored recovery vehicles, to pick up the wounded, John looked longingly at them, thinking that he could sure use the fuel they contained.  But he’d stirred up a hornet’s nest behind him, and they needed to vacate the area, and in a hurry too.  No time to siphon diesel now. 

It was raining again.  When hadn’t it been raining?  He couldn’t remember.  They’d left the railroad when it had turned East, again following a secondary road towards the south.  As they crested a hill, John let the tank coast to a stop.  There’d been a battle in the small valley below.  What had at one point been a meadow was now blackened and scarred, craters littering the landscape.  There were burnt out vehicles too, some of them still smoldering.  The main gun swung back and forth, as John, having shifted to the driver’s seat, searched through the telescopic gunsight for sighs of life.  After a bit, he pulled himself from the Tank’s fighting compartment, to look at the rabbit.  “Down there we can find fuel, and ammo, and maybe even what I need to fix the radio.  The problem is, from the looks of some of the vehicles down there, I think they used air scatterable mines.  That valley could be a lingering death trap.”  The rabbit just nodded; “I’ve kinda grown accustomed to riding.  And it looks like the war’s moving South faster than we are.  If we walk, we might never find our own lines, so I think we’d better risk it.”  The lion nodded; “then I’d recommend you send two troopers ahead to watch the ground.  The mines are easily seen, and we’ll just have to pick our way between them.  Got to move softly, though because some of them literally listen for the sound of footfalls.”  The rabbit nodded; “Yeah, I know, we’ve seen ‘em before.  Rodgers!  Tsarkas!  Take either side of the road, and watch for mines.  We’ll follow a hundred meters behind, so the vibration from the tank doesn’t set anything off.” 

John watched the two troopers move out carefully, taking a few steps and then stopping to look, and then moving on again.  Air scatterable mines were supposed to self-destruct after so many hours.  Supposed to.  Somehow the little bastards never seemed to do that though.  He watched as the otter stopped to pick up something, and toss it to the side of the road.  “If that was an antitank mine, your trooper’s either very brave or very dumb.  Some of those are booby-trapped to prevent just that.”  Hank grinned; “Yeah, but the stuff the enemy’s using doesn’t always work like its supposed to.  We’ve learned that, here recently.”  The lion just shook his head. 

After a while, they were able to move the tank down the road.  The lion stopped his tank near a similar model, a Freelands tank that had died hard, by the looks of it.   But it hadn’t burned.  Hopping down from his own tank, the lion checked the fuel tanks of the other tank, and smiled.  He showed a couple of troopers how to transfer the fuel, and then stuck his head into the fighting compartment, only to pull it back out hurriedly.  Making a face, he obviously had to force himself to descend into the fighting compartment, and after a moment, he started handing up rounds for the main gun, and for the coax machine gun.  When he emerged, he was shaking and gasping for air, his uniform spotted and smeared in what was left of the vehicle’s crew. 

As two of the troopers worked at pumping fuel, the others searched the battlefield for survivors, and anything useable.  John wandered to another vehicle, watching carefully where he stepped.  After staring at it for a moment, he turned and hurried back to his own tank, to get some tools.  Hank watched curiously as the lion attacked the radio antennas on the back of the vehicle.  As the last of the available fuel was transferred, the lion started connecting the salvaged antennas to the back of his own vehicle.  “The connectors for the command radio are shot to hell” he grumbled as he worked; ‘but the short range, vehicle to vehicle radio connector I think I can bend it back into shape, and the tactical data terminal antenna should just snap right in…..”  he was about to climb back into his tank, to check the results of his work, when he stopped, looking down at himself.  He was still a mess, and with a shudder, he stripped off his tunic and pants, leaving them on the ground, to fish in a storage compartment for his field pack.  When he was dressed again, he squeezed his bulk down into the tank, to turn on the electronics.  A moment later a growl of pleasure floated through the hatch. 

Hank chuckled, puffing softly on his pipe; “you always did go through uniforms at a prodigious rate.”  The lion swirled the brandy in his snifter and smiled; “things here are so much simpler” he said as he winked at Sylvia; “I save a small fortune on wardrobe by simply doing without.”  After taking a sip of his brandy, he continued…….. 

Hank stuck his head through the hatch, to see what was happening.  The lion was bent over the screen of the tactical data terminal.  The position and status of all Freelands units in the area were shown, along with the positions of any enemy units they had spotted, and while it wasn’t much, it did tell them where other retreating units were headed, and where they might find friends…..  Unfortunately, there just wasn’t anything close by……. 

The fuel tanks and, the ammunition carousel were almost full, and they were on the road again, leaving the battlefield behind.  The rain had slackened to a fine mist, and Hank’s troops were shivering with the cold, thoroughly soaked.  The rabbit watched the landscape flow by, trying hard to stay focused on watching for dangers, but the monotony was starting to get to him.  He was tired, he’d been going for days, it seemed like, without a break, and was having trouble just staying awake, let alone alert.  He knew the lion was in little better shape, as the tank kept drifting off the road; the rough ground under the treads would shake the lion awake, and he’d jerk the tank back onto the pavement…. 

Hank leaned over and tapped the lion on the head; the tank was too loud to talk, so John drove it off the road, across the shoulder to the tree line before he stopped.  Hank’s infantry dismounted, scattering into the woods, to look for the unlikely ambush, as the lion turned in the driver’s seat to look back at Hank.  “We’re all too exhausted; if we ran across an enemy unit we’d be in real trouble.  We need to find a place to lay up and get some rest.”  The lion shook his head; “we’ve got wounded; they need help.  If we stop, and believe me I know how tired everyone is, it’ll be that much longer before we get them to an aid station.”  Hank sighed and nodded; “but if we’re too tired, we might never reach an aid station.  As we head further South, eventually we’re going to catch up with the rear echelons of the Enemy advance, and that’s when things’ll get real interesting.  If we don’t do that just right, it could get us all killed.”  The lion thought for a minute, and finally nodded; “OK, Sergeant, but not here.  We need to find a place that’ll conceal us, and ideally also be defensible.  Lets continue on a bit and see what we can find.” 

The farm house stood on a small hill, the road to it winding through the fields that in the summer would be alive with crops.  Woods framed either side of the farmland, between the house and the road.  And there was a barn that might just hide the tank.  John looked at it through his binoculars and then handed them to Hank.  “Doesn’t look like any vehicles have been down that road in a while……”  Hank nodded; “but with the rain, doesn’t mean much.  Halt the tank 300 meters from the farmhouse and we’ll check it out on foot; you can cover us.”  The lion grinned and shook his head; “Yes SIR!” he chuckled. 

Hank looked up from his pipe, a thought full look on his face; “I was never that insubordinate.”  The lion chuckled and shook his head; “you were ALWAYS that insubordinate.”  As the rabbit scowled, the lion resumed his tale……. 

Once again, John watched through the gunsight as the infantry moved up, staying low, weapons sweeping back and forth.  He saw them reach the farmhouse, and then move around both sides, two going one way, three the other.  John watched for long minutes, fretting, wondering why they didn’t re-emerge to say it was clear, or if it wasn’t clear, why he didn’t hear shooting.  He listened to the one conscious wounded trooper moan, and wondered how long he should wait before charging the farmhouse, or fleeing, or maybe just leveling the place……  After waiting for what seemed like hours, after making several concious  efforts to keep his paws off the controls, he finally saw one of the troopers saunter around the farmhouse to wave him forward.  As he dropped the tank into gear, to move slowly up the road, he wondered if they’d found a supply of liquor, or something. 

What he found when he rounded the farmhouse was the last thing he expected.  There must have been two dozen Freelands troops there.  After shutting down the tank, and squeezing himself out through the hatch, he looked around in wonderment.  It seemed like each trooper had a different unit patch.  While there were some walking wounded, there didn’t seem to be anyone too seriously injured.  Gathering himself, he slid down the front slope of the tank’s armor, wincing at the sudden pain in his side, to walk over to where the Sergeant was standing.  “Who’s in charge here” he growled, trying to cover his momentary confusion.  The rabbit grinned back at him; “You are, Lieutenant.”  Again, the lion’s jaw dropped.  Hank grinned and nodded to a gray wolf standing to his left; “This is sergeant Shaeffer, he’s the senior non-com of what we have here, aside from me.”  Shaeffer grinned and nodded, not bothering with a salute; “Boy are we glad to see you, Lieutenant.  We been moving south, picking up strays for over a day now.  Pretty slim pickin’s  too.  You in touch with command?  We’ve lost all our radios.  What are our orders?  Where we supposed to go?”  The corporal on the other side of Hank, a vixen that in other circumstances might have been cute, chimed in; “Yeah, and how about ammo?  We’re all just about tapped out.  Oh, and you got anything to eat?”  John just groaned. 

Hank nudged the sleeping lion; “Come on, EllTee, its an hour after dark and we’re about ready to move out.”  John groaned and rolled over to face the wall; “C’m on Ma, just another hour” he groaned.  Hank grinned at Shaeffer, and reached down to pull the lion’s tail; it was then that he noticed how the left side of the lion’s uniform was wet with blood.  Giving the lion’s tail a softer jerk than he’d originally intended, he stepped back as the lion sat up with a growl.  “We’re about to move out, Lieutenant, but before we do, I think we’d better have Shaeffer’s medic take a look at you.  The lion’s hand went to his left side, and as he looked at the sticky red blood that etched his palm he nodded quietly. 

The infantry had gathered their packs and were all ready to go.  John sat on the fender of his tank as the medic tightened the bandage around his chest.  “There, that ought to hold you, for a while.  No heavy lifting, stay off your feet, and, ah, see me in my office, um, next Thursday.”  The lion grinned and nodded; “sure, I’ll just sit down in there,” he said nodding to the tank; “and put my feet up……”  Hank chuckled; “in fact, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.  Meet Fischer, your new driver.”  John looked at the squirrel fem looking shyly back at him; “You can drive a tank?”  Fischer nodded; “I was with the 332nd…..  Ah, well, OK, I was driving a Warrior APC, but its not that dissimilar…. Is it?”  She looked off to the side; “We took a heat round in the back.  Eddie…. The vehicle commander was thrown forward against the back of my seat; his body….. shielded me.  I was the only one that survived.”  Silence reigned for a moment and then John rose stiffly; “Come on, I’ll show you the controls.  ‘Bout time to start your On-The-Job-Training.”  Fischer just nodded and climbed up the front slope of the tank, to drop down the driver’s hatch with scarcely a wriggle.  John watched her disappear and raised his head to look at the rabbit; with a sigh he rumbled; “she makes it look so easy……”  Turning, he started to wriggle through the gunner’s hatch. 

They moved down the road slowly.  The infantry forming columns on either side of the road.  The wounded rode on the deck of the tank.  They were moving much more slowly now, and John wasn’t happy with that, but at least if they ran across something, they were in a better position to handle it.  At a walk, they moved through the night. 

It must have been about four in the morning, when he caught the flicker from the tactical data terminal.  They’d stopped three times so far, to rest, and twice to check out suspicious places that looked like they might contain ambushes.  So far their only contact with the enemy had been some poor truck driver, heading north on the road.  The infantry had shot up the truck as it tore past them, killing the driver and the two soldiers in the back; the truck had gone off the road and plowed into the embankment.  It had been empty.  Where it was going or what they were doing remained a mystery.  They’d siphoned off the diesel, stripped the dead of their weapons and ammunition, and then continued on.  Now, as they moved further South, icons were showing up on the tactical data terminal.  One icon was moving down the road behind them.  In theory that meant that it was a Freelands unit, but at this point John was not about to tempt fate.  It could easily be a captured vehicle……  Sticking his head out of the hatch, he waved to the rabbit, and then told Fischer to stop the tank. 

The infantry took up a hasty ambush position in the woods on the side of the road, with John directing Fischer to drive the tank a couple hundred meters down the road, to where there was a slight dip, and then turn around.  The dip didn’t give them much concealment, but it was better than nothing.  And John didn’t want to see if Fischer could back the tank into the woods…… besides, if things got grim, that would leave them trapped…… 

John watched the TDT with one eye, the other glued to the gunsight, wishing he still had his night vision equipment.  Lions can see well in the dark, but optics always eat up the light, absorbing a fraction of that which passes through.  And the tank’s gunsight had a lot of lenses……  The symbol on the TDT was slowing down; obviously they’d seen his symbol, and were approaching cautiously.  Finally the symbol stopped, and after a bit, one soldier walked down the road.  The Infantry let him pass, and he stopped a dozen yards in front of the tank, just looking.  John scanned the sides of the road, the fringes of the forest, the tank’s gunbarrel tracking left and then right.  Finally he concluded there were no enemy troops flanking them, and stuck his head out of the hatch.  The freelands trooper in front of him looked much the worse for wear, filthy, with his uniform torn here and there.  But he looked determined as well.  After looking at the Lion for a moment, he shook his head; “Just had to be sure you guys were really Freelands,” the puma growled, and before John could speak, he turned and waved back down the road.  The distant sound of a diesel was heard, and as John pulled himself from the tank, a very battered armored personnel carrier (APC) emerged from the night.  In fact, there were two, one towing another.  As they approached, the Puma turned back; “I’m Corporal Burroughs.  Sergeant Hampton is in charge.  Who you?”  John watched his own (his own?) infantry filter out of the woods as the APC’s passed them, and Burroughs, seeing the direction of his gaze gave a little start, obviously not realizing they’d been there.  “I’m Lieutenant Mosby, 23rd Armored, or whats left of it.  The infantry’s under Sergeants Schmidt, and Schaeffer.  We’re heading South to try and link up with our forces, but so far haven’t been having a whole lotta luck.”  Burroughs just nodded. 

The lead APC’s turret had been destroyed; something massive had punched in one side, and out the other, killing the vehicle commander and the gunner, and wrecking the gun.  The trailing APC had taken an RPG round in the engine compartment, and couldn’t move under its own power.  Sergeant Hampton, the vehicle commander of the towed APC explained with a grin that this way, they almost had a whole vehicle between them, and that everyone could ride.  The lion just shook his head.  “Do you have a working radio?” he growled.  Hampton, a rather energetic ferret, nodded his head a half dozen times in rapid succession; “Oh yeah.  We’ve been instructed to make our way to the pass at 237459.  That’s a rallying point for all units caught behind enemy lines.  There’s going to be a counterattack and they want us to hold that.  They won’t promise the counterattack will be coming that way, but if they do, they’d rather it was in friendly hands.”  John just sighed; “how much fuel and ammo do you have?” 

It was a curious sight.  Once again the top of the tank was covered in infantry, clinging to every surface.  They’d managed to get everyone on one or another of the vehicles, and were now making better time.  The pass that Hampton had mentioned was only a dozen kilometers away, and they were proceeding cautiously in that direction.  The APC’s were leading, as the lead vehicle had night vision equipment for its driver, and the thermal sight on the trailing one still worked, its APU chugging softly.  The tank brought up the rear.  They had just crossed one ridge, passed through the quiet little valley and were about to crest the hill on the other side, when the APC’s in front came to a rapid stop, the towed vehicle striking the one in front with a crash.  As the APC’s awkwardly reversed, to back down the slope to where the tank had stopped, Hampton’s voice came across the vehicle-to-vehicle short range radio; “Lieutenant, I think you’d better get up here and see this!” 

John groaned audibly as he looked through the binoculars.  The enemy had set up an entire artillery battalion, four batteries of four guns each, in the valley below.  It must have been a reserve unit, as the field pieces were the old towed type.  And they hadn’t posted a guard detail on the road at the crest of the hill.  John passed the binoculars to Hank and shook his head; “I don’t like it, but we really don’t have any choice.”  Hank studied the scene for a moment and nodded; “I agree; its only about six kilometers to the pass we’re supposed to hold.  We’ll have to abandon the vehicles, circle around the artillery, and make our way there on foot.”  Hampton looked doubtful, but Schaeffer nodded.  The lion just shook his head; “you misunderstand me, Sergeant.  It would be suicide to leave the artillery behind us.  When the fight starts for that pass, and I have no doubt it will, a full artillery battery that close would be devastating.  THAT would be suicide.  Like it or not, we’re going to have to take them out.” 

Hank puffed out a cloud of aromatic smoke and looked at the lion; “you’ve got that backward.  YOU wanted to abandon the vehicles.  I was the one who insisted that we take them out.”  The lion blinked and shook his head; “no you weren’t………  It went like this…….” 

Hank stared at the lion; “you want us to assault an entire BATTALION with…. 29 effectives?  Beggin’ the Lieutenant’s pardon, but YOU’RE CRAZY!”  Hampton shook his head; “I dunno….. leaving them here to shoot us up later might be just as crazy……”  The rabbit made a gesture of dismissal; “no way.  I am NOT that stupid!  If you want to go shoot ‘em up, go ahead, but I’m taking my troops and going around them!”  The lion cleared his throat and spoke quietly; “No Sergeant, you’re not.  We’re going to take them out, and that’s an order.”  Hank just growled, a strange sound coming from a rabbit. 

Most of the infantry had been sent to the west.  Their fire would hit the enemy from the flank.  John had kept just a few infantrymen to provide flank security, in case the enemy, once attacked, tried to flank them through the woods.  The one mobile APC had pushed the mobility kill APC to the crest of the hill, and the tank had moved up on the other side of the road until its gun was just barely peeking over the crest.  As he waited for Hank’s troops to get into position, John wondered if the rabbit would just skip out on him.  He wondered if the enemy had laser designators for the anti-tank rounds he knew they carried.  He wondered if the enemy would come up the road behind him.  He wondered if the enemy could call in air support.  He wondered if this was such a hot idea after all…….  Finally his clock ticked down to the agreed-upon time, and he hit the button to load the main gun.  The autoloader smoothly pushed a HEAT (high explosive anti-tank) round into the chamber and the injectors hissed, adding the binary propellant.  Sighting in on what he was sure was the command vehicle, he growled “ON THE WAY” and hit the trigger. 

Hank had just settled into the position he’d chosen, looking out at the flank of the artillery unit when he heard the CRASH-WHAM of tank gun, followed almost immediately by the THUNK-THUNK-THUNK of the lighter autocannon in the APC.  One of the vehicles in the valley blew sky high, and the quiet little valley suddenly resembled a kicked over anthill, enemy soldiers running everywhere.  Giving a signal to his men, he sighted his assault rifle and started to shoot, firing short controlled bursts. 

John pumped his second round into an ammunition resupply vehicle towards the far side of the valley.  It exploded nicely, the shock wave of its exploding load of artillery rounds knocking down soldiers for a score of meters in every direction.  As he sought his next target, he noticed a number of gun crews struggling to turn their field pieces in his direction.  Most artillery these days was self propelled; radars tracked the flight of shells back to their point of origin, and it wasn’t safe to shoot from one place for too long.  More than three rounds was considered too long…..  Self propelled artillery could “shoot and scoot,” but the older towed artillery had a much harder time relocating.  Still, the towed field pieces were MUCH less expensive.  And these were large enough to have auxiliary power units mounted on them, to power hydraulically operated breach blocks and ammo lift trays and rammers…… as well as hydraulic motors in the wheels.  Several of the field pieces were slowly being turned in his direction.  Centering his targeting reticule on one of them, he again shouted “ON THE WAY” and hit the trigger. 

The small arms fire of the infantry went largely unnoticed in the gun duel that was developing between the tank and the APC, and the artillery.  Hank worked quickly, shooting the enemy soldiers that crewed the nearer field pieces.  Suddenly one of the ammunition carriers exploded with a massive WHUMP!, and he had to duck as flying debris rained down everywhere. 

The first artillery round landed to John’s left, the side away from the APC.  He had no idea which gun had fired, but if one had started shooting at him, it was a sure thing that a half dozen more would be doing so in the next few seconds.  Flipping the switch over to coax, he started spraying the field pieces with machine-gun fire, seeking to drive the crews away from their guns. 

Hampton was having problems.  His autocannon kept wanting to jam.  Still, he managed to contribute to the fray, shooting up artillery piece after artillery piece.  He’d just started to think this might work, when an alarm went off; looking at the master panel, he groaned as he saw it was a laser warning……. 

John jumped as the massive artillery round hit the turret of the APC next to him, the force of the explosion making the tank rock.  Glancing out a vision block, he winced at the sight of the torn and burning vehicle.  “No one could have survived that” he sighed, as he turned his attention back to the work at hand. 

The lion missed the small firefight in the woods to the East.  Some of the more daring enemy soldiers had taken rocket propelled grenade (RPG) launchers and had tried to flank the position on the ridge.  Burroughs however had been waiting for them, and as they raised their weapons to fire at the flank of the tank, he’d cut them down with his Squad automatic weapon. 

Hank signaled his troops and they moved out of the woods towards the guns.  They’d pretty well cleaned out the crews of the four guns nearest the west edge of the woods, and now they were seeking fresh targets.  As he dashed to a smoldering truck, and peered over its hood, he saw a small knot of enemy soldiers crouched over what looked like a motion picture camera; a small box mounted on a low tripod, with lenses on one end and an eyepiece on the other…..  “Laser designator” he growled and raised his assault rifle to take aim. 

John growled as the laser warning alarm went off.  “Fischer!  Full Reverse!  NOW!” he snarled.  He felt the tank lurch backwards, and then something screamed immediately overhead, to explode behind them.  “That was close” he growled; “OK Fischer, back up about 30 meters and come up on the right side of the burning APC.  Lets see if we can find that laser designator.” 

Hank grinned as the enemy soldiers fell like ten-pins; his triumph however was short-lived as he had drawn attention, and answering fire from somewhere on the smoke filled battlefield.  He crouched behind the truck as bullets smacked into it like winter hail. 

John swept the gun from right to left across the battlefield, sending a spray of machine-gun bullets at anything that might resemble a laser designator.  A few artillery rounds still crashed into the ridge, but not near as many as a few minutes ago.  Completing his sweep, he started back again, just as the laser warning alarm sounded again.  He was just about to tell Fischer to reverse again when he caught sight of three enemy troops huddled over something.  Centering his targeting reticle over them, he got a glint of red and grinned ferrally.  Flipping the switch back to the main gun, he fired one of his few remaining HEAT rounds at them.  Fischer jumped when he whooped with joy, the laser alarm ceasing the instant the HEAT round detonated, scattering body parts and wreckage amongst an already devastated battlefield. 

Hank had heard the cannon shell explode, but hadn’t seen what it had hit.  He’d fallen back from the truck he’d been hiding behind, to circle around to the North.  Looking around a wrecked APC, the prime mover for one of the destroyed field pieces, he saw some of the enemy troops running to the East.  “They’ve broken” he grinned to himself, and raised his rifle to fire a few parting shots at them. 

John saw the enemy start to abandon their guns and run for the woods.  It started as a trickle, and soon turned into a flood as the survivors fled.  The lion picked his targets carefully; a gun crew here, still trying to service their weapon, a knot of troops hiding there.  A truck trying to escape down the road, and once, what looked like an officer trying to talk into a backpack radio.  Finally He caught a glimpse of some of the Freelands infantry moving in from the west, and finding no other targets to shoot at, he directed Fischer to top the rise, to head down into the battlefield. 

Hank was grimy, and looked tired and pissed when he made his way to the tank.  John was already pumping fuel from a smoldering enemy APC, trying to replenish the thirsty tank’s fuel tanks.  “We took ten casualties, SIR” the rabbit said with a snear.  “Seven dead and two wounded.  One of those will probably die before we make it home.”  The lion just nodded; “Occupational hazard, Sergeant.  You know this needed doing.  Now have your troops scavenge the battlefield for any enemy weapons that still work, and all the ammunition you can find.  We need to destroy the remaining guns here and git before they send a relief column.  Or before someone rallies those enemy troops in the woods to the East and they counter-attack.  By now, they KNOW we’re here.”  The rabbit just nodded, and moved off. 

They moved away from the valley at a walk.  The remaining APC and the tank were covered with wounded, those that could move under their own power walking down the shoulders of the road.  Burroughs had insisted on hooking one of the enemy artillery pieces to the back of the APC, taking what cannon rounds he could find.  He professed he had no idea how to work the thing, but swore he’d figure it out by the time they needed it.  “After all” he rumbled; “if the enemy can work it, how hard would it be for a Freelands soldier to figure it out?”  After a moment, he sighed; “besides, the gun on the APC doesn’t work, and I feel naked without it……” 

The tactical data terminal showed no icons, friendly or enemy in the pass they were to defend.  John sighed and squirmed out of the tank to look at the rabbit.  “We’re going to have to check it out the hard way.  Same way as the farmhouse.  Infantry forward, Tank covering.  The rabbit shook his head, grumbling “yeah, we get ALL the breaks.”  The lion just grinned. 

The infantry probe met no resistance as it moved into the pass.  The place was deserted, and that fact puzzled the lion; he would have expected at least an enemy MP post, or check point.  There had also been no sign of fighting there, and John had to check the map to make sure they were in the right place.  Finally, he picked a spot for the tank, facing South, and Hank walked about with Burroughs and Schaeffer, picking spots for their infantry, and the field piece they’d captured.  John would have liked to have dug in the tank, but the ground was much too rocky.  He didn’t have any sand-bags either.  Finally he just settled down to wait. 

As the infantry dug fighting positions, it started raining again.  John fiddled with the radio, stripping the antenna cable from inside the hull, and scavenging around for something that would let him get an exterior antenna working, even if it meant throwing a measured length of wire out the tank commander’s hatch.  The APC offered few parts, but after a while he thought he had something that might work. 

Hank watched the Lion with curiosity.  “Of course there’s no way to match the impedance, but its worth a try” the lion rumbled; picking up his CVC helmet (combat vehicle crew), he pushed the switch forward to transmit; “Popsicle One to any unit, do you read?”  Hank’s jaw dropped; “Popsicle One?”  The lion just shrugged; “NOT my idea…  I think my Captain chose that to remind me to stay cool…..”  The rabbit just chuckled and shook his head.  John consulted his notebook, changed the frequency and tried again.  After a moment, the Lion heard in his headphones; “Armageddon Six to…. Popsicle One?  Who the HELL are you?”  “Lieutenant Mosby, 3rd Platoon, Charlie Company, 23rd Armored, Sir.  I’m with a group of survivors at map reference 237459, as per instructions.”  “Popsicle One, Armageddon Six.  Wait one while we check you out.”  John nodded and pulled the helmet half off his head to relate to Hank what he’d heard.  After a while his headphones came alive again; “Popsicle One; Command says Charlie company was wiped out to the last soul.  Stay off this frequency!”  and then he heard faintly, as if whoever was talking had turned away from the microphone; “Only the enemy’d pick a callsign like that and expect us to believe it!” 

John looked at the radio for a moment and just shook his head.  Finally he looked up at the rabbit; “they don’t believe I am who I say I am!”  Hank just shrugged; “probably getting a lot of false information over our radios, from enemy intelligence units that have picked up stuff from the battlefield.”  John just sighed, stripped off the CVC and handed it to the rabbit; “here, you try.  I’m going to get a breath of fresh air.”  Hank grinned and looked at the radio settings as the lion squeezed his bulk up through the tank’s hatch.  Keying the mike he said:  “This is Sergeant Schmidt, 18th Airborne, to any unit…….” 

It was the following morning when the first enemy probe came up the hill from the North.  John had wondered what was taking them so long…..  It was two scout cars and a wheeled APC.  John let them get within 300 meters before the tank’s cannon spoke, shattering the early morning stillness.  The APC jerked backwards and burst into flame, its rear doors opening to spill out two survivors.  Both scout cars opened up with their heavy machineguns, but that didn’t bother John.  They couldn’t do much more’n scratch his paint.  The second round missed, as both scout cars maneuvered to turn around.  All the fancy systems the tank had once possessed, that would let him track and hit a rapidly maneuvering target were junk.  He was down to iron sights… but once the scout cars had turned around, and were heading back down the road at an increasing speed, he found them much easier targets, and destroyed first one, and then the other.  He grinned as their wreckage blocked the road nicely. 

Hank shook his head as he watched.  Given what was left of the tank, it was amazing that the lion could hit anything; but it didn’t matter much now.  The scout cars had certainly broadcast a warning, and now the enemy knew exactly where they were…… it wouldn’t be long until a serious threat showed up. 

John made the suitable notations on his tactical data terminal.  They might not believe he was who he said he was, but they might believe what their TDT’s told them.  He sketched in his position, and added a note about the small action they’d just been through and hit the send key.  He wondered what Command would make of his information……. 

The day passed slowly.  Burroughs tinkered with the artillery piece.  John tinkered with the burnt out systems of his tank.  The infantry dug in deeper, set boobytraps on their flanks in the woods, and slept.  Finally John was pacing back and forth outside his tank.  Hank watched quietly for a while and then called out; “Lieutenant, will you PLEASE sit down?  You’re making us tired just watching you!”  John turned and growled at the rabbit; “They’ve had more than enough time.  The longer it goes before they attack, the worse its going to be.  I wish they’d just GET ON WITH IT! 

Hank chuckled as he tapped out his pipe, and opened his tobacco pouch to refill it; “you always were the impatient one.”  The lion just grinned, took a sip of his brandy, and continued the story…….. 

The lion got his wish about two hours after dark.  One of the boobytraps to the West went “Ker-SNAP……….KABOOM”, and instantly all attention was focused in that direction.  The enemy Infantry came in a rush, flitting between the rocks, and through the trees, Hank’s infantry firing at them.  “Fischer!” John snarled; “Crank her up, swivel left and back her into the woods on the opposite side of the road!”  As the tank moved, perhaps a bit more rapidly than John would have liked, he scanned the trees to the West through the gunsight.  It was too much of a hodge-podge; he couldn’t  get a clear shot.  Too many of the Freelands infantry were in the way.  He knew he should stay with the tank, but if the infantry to the West fell, he’d have no time before the enemy swarmed across the road, and over his tank.  Sighing, he told Fischer that if it looked like all was lost, she was to drive the tank to the South for two kilometers and to wait there for two hours for stragglers.  Then she was to bug out.  Taking his SMG, he squirmed through the hatch, to head into the rocks to the Southwest, trying to flank the approaching enemy. 

Hank fired a quick burst at a shadow, and was rewarded when someone went down with a scream.  He’d been expecting an armored attack up the road, not an infanry attack from the hilltop to the West.  The rocks and trees gave lousy fields of fire, the enemy as hampered as he was.  As he watched, the enemy rushed his positions, moving in twos and threes, dashing from rock to tree to rock, firing as they came forward.  He threw a grenade at the larger group that he could see, and raised his assault rifle to fire a burst at another group. 

John moved from rock to rock in short sprints.  He was “hunting” again, and he panted as the adrenaline surged through him.  Twice he’d caught small knots of enemy soldiers  from the flank, to gun them down.  He turned a little more to the North, moving up hill, as he tried to roll up their flank. 

The enemy rush carried them into the fighting positions Hank’s troops had dug, and for a moment it was hand-to-hand, pistol and knife the primary weapons, and then the enemy melted back, unable to hold.  Hank sent his last grenade after them, and dropped back down into his hole, to reload his rifle.  After catching his breath, he called out to his troops, checking to see how many were still alive…… 

John caught some of the retreating troops as they moved past him, his SMG stuttering until the barrel smoked..  This however only drew a firestorm in response, and he was forced to slink away through the rocks, sharp shards of rock peppering his hide from near misses. 

Hank heard the firing to the SouthWest, and turned to look at the tank behind him, somehow instinctively knowing who the enemy was shooting at. “That CRAZY fool” he growled to himself; “he’s gonna get himself killed, and how much you wanna bet, they blame me.” 

The enemy made one more assault, about 20 minutes later, troops again flitting through the rocks and trees after a shower of grenades.  Burroughs was responsible for breaking their attack this time.  From his position on the left flank of the assault, by the road, he fired the artillery piece into the woods as the enemy advanced.  The shell, striking a tree about 15 meters above the ground, sent a deadly hail of splinters flying, felling a number of the advancing enemy.  By the third cannon round, the enemy was again in retreat.  While they watched through the night, they weren’t seen again. 

John had made it back to his tank, after the second assault.  With the second wave, the enemy had sent some soldiers wide to the South, in an attempt to find and eliminate the Freelands forces there.  John, however, had climbed a tree, letting them pass, and then shooting down from above.  In the dark, the enemy couldn’t figure out where the fire was coming from……  Still, he had gone from being the hunter to being the hunted.  And if they’d seen him in the tree…… When Fischer saw him, she let out a small gasp.  The flying rock splinters had all but shredded the left side of his tunic, leaving dozens of little red splotches.  Despite his assurances that it looked worse than it was, Fischer had insisted on having the medic come by to look at him. 

First light came with the sound of tracked vehicles.  John stood on the turret of his tank and watched through his binoculars as what must have been a reinforced armored company came over the pass on the other side of the valley.  It was about 18 tanks, supported by a half dozen APC’s.  Handing the binoculars to Hank, he sighed; “This is where we earn our pay.”  Hank studied the enemy a moment, and shook his head; “Lieutenant, this is where discretion is the better part of valor.  We can’t stand against that.  All we’ve got is captured RPG’s and light arms.  And how many antitank rounds do you have for that gun?”  John shook his head; “not many, but we have our orders.  Tell you what, though.  When we’re all out of ammo, when we’re down to throwing rocks, THEN we’ll fall back.   Take your troops to the East, tell Burroughs to take his to the West, and then South.  Meet on the road four kilometers from here.  Gather whoever shows up for two hours and then head South.  Don’t wait any longer.”  The rabbit nodded solemnly and went to spread the word. 

There was no artillery falling before the advancing enemy armor.  John smiled to himself, thinking that destroying the enemy artillery unit had probably paid off in that respect.  The road out of the valley had a few twists and turns, and was out of his field of view in places, but the lay of the land was pretty much such that they had to come up the road to get to the pass.  As the lion climbed down into the tank, he wondered if there were infantry forces moving through the woods in a coordinated assault.  That’d be what he’d do, given the resources.  Turning to his tactical data terminal, he made the notations that indicated the size, and direction of the enemy unit headed his way, wondering if anyone would ever see the information.  Then he told Fischer to back the tank up a dozen meters, putting it completely out of view from the valley below.  He wouldn’t give them a target until he could shoot back. 

Hank watched from his fighting position.  He knew most of the sophisticated targeting systems were out on the tank, or he’d have been firing already.  Burroughs artillery piece suffered the same problem.  They’d have to wait until the enemy got closer, to have a chance of hitting big enough to make expending one of their few rounds of ammo worthwhile.  The infantry would have to wait even longer to fire their RPG’s, the effective range on those things only being about 100 meters….. 

The enemy was still 2000 meters away when they started firing.  HEAT rounds started falling among the trees and rocks to either side of the road through the pass.  Hank’s troops had dug in well, their fighting positions having at least some overhead cover.  The shelling made them keep their heads down, but unless you were unlucky enough to have a shell fall directly on your fox hole, it did little else. 

“O.K. Fischer, lets move back up to where we were.  I’m going to fire three rounds, and then we’ll back up, shift to the right side of the road, and move forward again.  We’ll alternate back and forth, and hopefully not give them a target for too long……”  The tank ground forward, and as soon as the gun had a target, John called for Fischer to stop.  He tracked a tank coming right at him, up the road, and fired, his APFSDS round cleaving through the glacis armor, the tank grinding to a halt, spewing smoke.  The enemy had spotted him however, and shells began falling close… too close.  John got off a second round, causing another enemy tank to slew to one side, its crew bailing out as it too started to smolder.  An enemy round hit the road in front of the tank, causing a spray of dirt and asphalt, and John growled; “back up, Fischer, lets find a place a little less hot.” 

Burroughs had dug in the artillery piece, a monumental task for furrs with just shovels.  Still, it did not go unnoticed, and he’d barely got off three rounds, none of them hitting, when an armor piercing round crashed through his earthworks, to shatter the gun.  As he picked himself up off the ground, to the cries of the wounded, Burroughs grinned, thankful that it hadn’t been an H.E. round; that would have detonated all the ammo they had stored nearby for the cannon.  No sooner than that thought had formed in his mind, than several shells struck his fortification, all of them H.E. 

Hank saw the pit where the artillery piece was go up in a massive explosion and sighed.  “It was a nice try, Burroughs, but I could have told you that would happen.”  The rabbit bobbed his head over the edge of his fighting position only enough to keep track of the steadily advancing enemy, waiting for them to come into range, waiting for payback…… 

Fischer pulled into what she called, in her mind, “parking spot No.2”.  They’d mapped out four places to park the tank where the gun could peek over the crest of the road and see the valley below, with the bulk of the road sheltering the hull of the tank.  The problem was, given the narrow pass, “parking spot No.1” and “Parking spot No.4” were only 60 meters apart.  Not a helluva lot of difference.  The tank had barely come to rest when the cannon roared again, the turret traversed, and roared yet again.  Then it was time to back up, to shift to another parking spot.  “Lord, they learn fast” Fischer lamented……. 

John was panting as he desperately tried to fire as fast as he could.  So far they’d relocated (if you could call it that) a half dozen times, he’d fired nine rounds, and knocked out five tanks.  That only left thirteen or so…… And those tanks were already starting to climb the hill towards his position……  He’d have to expose more and more of his tank as he tried to target them…..  And he knew several tanks had held back waiting for just that to happen….. 

Hank took another peek and ducked rapidly.  The enemy was about 800 meters away, and while most of them seemed to be targeting where the road crossed through the pass, seeking to kill that annoying lion, there were still an uncomfortable number firing at the flanking positions, where they KNEW the infantry hid. 

Fisher took the tank a bit further  this time, as the lion depressed the gunbarrel as far as it would go.  He’d just fired, when the tank rocked back hard, the turret spinning to the left.  The lion grunted, and then growled; “back up, Fischer.”  He didn’t have to; she’d already shifted to reverse, the tank jerking to the rear.  John took stock of what was left.  The autoloader still worked, but the turret wouldn’t traverse.  “Bet it stripped out the gear on the hydraulic motor” he thought, as he bent to try the hand crank.  Sure enough, the turret would still turn, kinda…… “Fischer, I figure we got one more shot.  I’m going to have to crank the gun by hand, so you’ll have to steer left or right at my direction to get it as close to on target as possible.  If they hit the gun tube, I suspect we’ll blow up, but there’s only way to find out.”  Fischer gulped and nodded, her hands tight on the steering bar. 

Hank took another peek; 400 meters.  He’d heard the tank take a hit, and figured it was up to the infantry now…… 

Fischer drove the tank forward slowly.  The lion called over the intercom “left, a little more… stop there.”  He grunted as he worked the hand crank furiously.  Just as he had the closest enemy tank targeted, just as he hit the trigger, and the gun roared, the tank staggered backwards.  “Fischer!  Reverse!” the lion yelled, but all that happened was that the tank slewed to one side.  “Fischer!  Left track’s broken!  Turn us back to face them!  Get our heavier armor facing front!  Then get back here!”  Fischer nodded, turning the steering bar the opposite way, but as the tank started to turn, it rocked again, ringing with a terrible CLANG, sparks and smoke filling the fighting compartment. 

Hank felt, more than heard the tank take another hit.  He darted a look at the enemy, about 200 meters, and then at the tank.  It was on fire……  “Dang fool Lion; doesn’t know when to quit” he growled to himself, as he ducked back down, preparing for the inevitable.  As he checked his rifle for what must have been the hundreth time, he chuckled to himself; “Ah, well, I guess I don’t either.  I’m NOT leaving this fight without at least SOME payback…..” 

John reached forward to grab for the rescue strap at the back of Fischer’s coveralls.  Grunting he tried to pull her from the driver’s seat, only for her body to come apart in his hands.  The enemy’s round had penetrated the side, just behind the engine compartment; as the depleted uranium penetrator forced its way through the armor, the incredible friction actually melted the armor ahead of it.  The resulting jet of molten metal had sprayed through the fighting compartment, burning through Fischer’s middle……  John looked at her face for a moment, frozen into a surprised expression by death, and sighed.  He hadn’t wanted her to die; hadn’t wanted any of them to die…….  Finally he grabbed his SMG and yanked open the escape hatch in the floor of the tank.  As he crawled beneath the tank, moving towards its rear, he felt it jerk back a few feet as another round slammed into it.  “Thank God we use binary propellants” he thought to himself; “Otherwise it would have blown sky-high by now, taking me with it. 

As he made it to the back of the tank, looking South at the crest of the hill, and wondering if he could dash to cover, John gasped as he made out the image of more tanks, this time coming from the South, emerging from the mist…… 

Hank ducked as another cannon round exploded in the dirt a scant few meters away.  With the tank out of action, the enemy was now concentrating on the infantry positions they could see, and it was getting GRIM.  The rabbit considered giving the order to retreat…..  He and a few others could distract the enemy armor with RPG’s as the rest of the infantry melted back into the rocks and trees.  No point in all of them dying….. He was just about to shout out the orders when he caught sight of the lion waving from underneath the back of his burning tank. 

John sobbed.  “Fisher, I’m sorry; I’ve killed you for no good reason.  If I’d only KNOWN!”  He watched, eyes filled with tears as he thought of all the dead and wounded, as a Freelands armored battalion charged through the pass, their lead tanks engaging the enemy at point blank range.  He crouched in the shelter of his burning tank, Fischer’s funeral pyre, as they streamed past.  From his position, he missed most of the tank battle that developed, as the two forces fought for control of that key piece of terrain, tanks on both sides exploding, soldiers dying.  Finally the sounds died away……. He looked up as an Aid track stopped behind his tank, the medics emerging to search for the wounded.  He waved off the medic that looked enquiringly at him.  Pointing to the woods to the West he sighed; “They’re over there.”  The medic nodded and dashed off, calling to his comrades.  He was still sitting there, gazing into nowhere when the command track pulled to a stop nearby.  He looked up as a shadow fell across him.  The Colonel looked down at the rather tattered Lion; “Good job holding the pass, Son.  Who are you, anyways?”  John looked over towards where they’d left the wounded; “Mosby, Lieutenant, Charlie Company, 23rd Armored.”  The Colonel shook his head; “thought you were all dead.  John looked up; “Not quite……. sir.”  The Colonel nodded; “well, when the medics are through they’ll take the wounded to the nearest field hospital.  Gather up all those that can move under their own power and take them to the rally point at 221395.  They’ll figure out what to do with you from there.  And again, Good Job!”  John just nodded. 

John stood at the North end of the pass.  The medics had evacuated the wounded, and Hank had pulled together the survivors.  “Sergeant, I’m too tired to walk the dozen or so kilometers to the rally point” the Lion growled.  “What do you think the chances are of finding a running vehicle in that mess down in the valley?  The Sergeant just grinned and shrugged. 

The dozen survivors rode into the rally point on the back of a tank they’d found on the battlefield.  The gaping hole in the armor gave mute testimony to the armor piercing round that had killed the entire crew, shredding them, but amazingly, leaving most of the tank’s systems still working.  John turned it over to a vehicle recovery unit, while Hank went to check on his wounded.  Not having the faintest idea where Hank had gone to check on his troops, John asked directions to the command tent, and went to report in. 

It was three days later.  John had gotten his side stitched up, and his cuts and burns bandaged.  It seemed none of them were bad enough for him to be sent back from the front, and after the enemy offensive, they desperately needed replacements…..  He’d had a shower (admittedly cold), been issued a new uniform, and field kit, had gotten some hot chow, and most important of all, about 24 hours uninterrupted sleep.  He’d even found time to write letters, one for each of the dogtags that had been jingling in his pocket.  The letter to Fischer’s parents had been the hardest of all……  His orders had come through, and he was walking across the compound that the regroup area had turned into, heading towards his transport out, when he ran across the Sergeant.  To the lion’s absolute amazement, the rabbit straightened to something approaching attention, and gave him a salute.  “Hello ElTee” the rabbit growled; “I was wondering if I would see you again before I shoved off.”  John returned the salute and nodded; “Hello, Sergeant.  Where are you off to?”  Hank made a sour face and shook his head; “the IDIOTS in the Repple-Depple (replacement depot) have decided to ruin a fine airborne trooper, namely myself, and have assigned me to a flaming CAVALRY unit!  Seems my old unit was so chopped up its being disbanded, all the survivors passed on to other units.”  The lion’s eyes narrowed as the rabbit continued; “Yeah, they’re sending me to the 203rd, making me First Sergeant of Bravo Company.  Guess they need someone to straighten ‘em out….”  John made a small strangled noise and reached into a pocket, to hand the rabbit his orders.  Hank’s eyes widened as he read; “You are hearby promoted to 1st Lieutenant (brevet), and are instructed to take command of 2nd Platoon, Bravo Company, 203rd Cavalry…..”  The rabbit rolled his eyes and sighed.  Then he shrugged and grinned; “Ah, whats one more officer to wet-nurse?”  John sighed, an exasperated noise, and pointed to the Southeast; “Come on, First Sergeant, our transport’s waiting.” 

"And that's how it all started." John concluded.  As he'd talked, a number ofthe resort's guests, even James, had gathered on the porch to listen. By thetime that John had finished with his story, you could here a pin drop.  The"audience" was staring at him with rapt attention.  Hank rocked in his chairquietly, his pipe occasionally giving forth a puff of fragrant smoke,apparently finding nothing further to add.  John looked into his now almostempty brandy snifter, and raised it, to look across the rim at the SergeantMajor; "Here's to Fischer, and to Schaeffer, Burroughs, and Hampton, and allthe others who's names I can't remember.  To absent comrades."  Hank justnodded and echoed; "to absent comrades" as he stared off into space.  Sylviawiped a tear from her eye as she looked at the far end of the porch.  She sawJames standing there, close enough to hear the story, but far enough away tonot be bothered by the rabbit's pipe smoke or the other guests.  She looked atthe tiger and saw him silently mouth the words "To absent comrades...." as atear streamed down his cheek, and he quickly turned and hurried away.