approximately an hour to come up with a plan. I didn’t know what we could possibly do against it. Bullets would probably ricochet off the huge thing or get lost inside it.
Over the first part of that hour my sump s pun and I felt like I ground a kilogram of silicon off my processor. Not one good idea surfaced. My mind drifted off thinking of the gruesome end where we all attacked with bayonet s and knives as the massive dinosaur smashed us to bits just by stepping on us. In my daydream one of my t eddy units , stabbing the beast in the leg , was drug along by the pomm el of his own knife. I gained a new respect for Six’s decision to give me imagination. It is highly underrated.
“All heavy equipment to either end of the berm.” Time was the enemy. “ I want two Nurse Nan s and a squad of gophers collecting the enemy for salvage and a squad of tanks as sentry .” My plan was to draw away the escorts from the huge dreadnought. I cringed as I sent these units over the top . These were sacrificial lambs even though they looked nothing like the furry white lambs that Six created as assault shock troops.
The flyers reported a more accurate count of 246 mixed tanks, teddies , and attack car units. As I predicted, upon spying my small force out in sight the vast bulk of the enemy force sped up, leaving the T . rex behind. Five minutes later I ordered the rest of the units back to active stations.
I held tight rein on my hidden troops as the mass of the enemy closed on the poor victims who had “volunteered . ” W e waited. Ten minutes later , they hit us. Their first volley decimated those few I put out to draw them in. Every single one of my units took at least one hit, sometimes many more. Only three remained effective enough to return fire.
But behind the berm I smiled. For a change we outnumbered the enemy by four to one and they sat within our fire sack. I issued the command to open up. The term shooting gallery came to mind.
On the field it must have been like five years in h ell itself. Machine gun rounds, mortar fire, and sabot tank projectiles filled the air in the low horseshoe with death. Our fire dispatched 204 of the fauna in the first volley. Twenty more of them couldn’t fire effectively for one reason or another. The fauna didn’t get a second shot. Not a single enemy who entered the horseshoe remained alive after thirty seconds .
From what damage reports I was listening to over the net, it seems we again took minimal casualties — other than those I sacrificed as a lure. I had succeeded in dividing the enemy forces. We had won the Second B attle of the Berm , but not yet the war. Gratifying though our mini-victory was, our most serious threat would be here in minutes — T yrannosaurus rex had to die.
I sent three of the flyer s to drop their remaining payloads of bombs on the monstrosity. If I was correct, there was only one way we could defeat it. T he balloon s spun up t heir props to attack speed and move d directly for the enemy. The T . rex ignored them as he continued his lumbering approach to our location. The monster wore its imperviousness like a cloak, moving straight in with no attempt to avoid our fire. It obviously didn’t care and showed it to everyone who looked.
From my distant vantage point 2 kilometers away , time slowed to a mere trickle compared to the normal river of its speed. The first balloon dropped its load and, finally free of its heavy ordinance, it leaped skyward. Each of the twelve 2.2 kilo bombs fell in exaggerated slowness until they impa cted, one after another, striking the shoulder left of T yrannosaurus rex’s plastic head crest. The rippling sounds of sequential thunderclaps pounded my ears even at this distance. A living yellow ball of flame and smoke wreathing its head dispersed in less than a moment by the moving dreadnought. When it emerged, n ot a single scale appeared out of place on its rubbery hide. I wish they hadn’t, but m y predictions
Over the first part of that hour my sump s pun and I felt like I ground a kilogram of silicon off my processor. Not one good idea surfaced. My mind drifted off thinking of the gruesome end where we all attacked with bayonet s and knives as the massive dinosaur smashed us to bits just by stepping on us. In my daydream one of my t eddy units , stabbing the beast in the leg , was drug along by the pomm el of his own knife. I gained a new respect for Six’s decision to give me imagination. It is highly underrated.
“All heavy equipment to either end of the berm.” Time was the enemy. “ I want two Nurse Nan s and a squad of gophers collecting the enemy for salvage and a squad of tanks as sentry .” My plan was to draw away the escorts from the huge dreadnought. I cringed as I sent these units over the top . These were sacrificial lambs even though they looked nothing like the furry white lambs that Six created as assault shock troops.
The flyers reported a more accurate count of 246 mixed tanks, teddies , and attack car units. As I predicted, upon spying my small force out in sight the vast bulk of the enemy force sped up, leaving the T . rex behind. Five minutes later I ordered the rest of the units back to active stations.
I held tight rein on my hidden troops as the mass of the enemy closed on the poor victims who had “volunteered . ” W e waited. Ten minutes later , they hit us. Their first volley decimated those few I put out to draw them in. Every single one of my units took at least one hit, sometimes many more. Only three remained effective enough to return fire.
But behind the berm I smiled. For a change we outnumbered the enemy by four to one and they sat within our fire sack. I issued the command to open up. The term shooting gallery came to mind.
On the field it must have been like five years in h ell itself. Machine gun rounds, mortar fire, and sabot tank projectiles filled the air in the low horseshoe with death. Our fire dispatched 204 of the fauna in the first volley. Twenty more of them couldn’t fire effectively for one reason or another. The fauna didn’t get a second shot. Not a single enemy who entered the horseshoe remained alive after thirty seconds .
From what damage reports I was listening to over the net, it seems we again took minimal casualties — other than those I sacrificed as a lure. I had succeeded in dividing the enemy forces. We had won the Second B attle of the Berm , but not yet the war. Gratifying though our mini-victory was, our most serious threat would be here in minutes — T yrannosaurus rex had to die.
I sent three of the flyer s to drop their remaining payloads of bombs on the monstrosity. If I was correct, there was only one way we could defeat it. T he balloon s spun up t heir props to attack speed and move d directly for the enemy. The T . rex ignored them as he continued his lumbering approach to our location. The monster wore its imperviousness like a cloak, moving straight in with no attempt to avoid our fire. It obviously didn’t care and showed it to everyone who looked.
From my distant vantage point 2 kilometers away , time slowed to a mere trickle compared to the normal river of its speed. The first balloon dropped its load and, finally free of its heavy ordinance, it leaped skyward. Each of the twelve 2.2 kilo bombs fell in exaggerated slowness until they impa cted, one after another, striking the shoulder left of T yrannosaurus rex’s plastic head crest. The rippling sounds of sequential thunderclaps pounded my ears even at this distance. A living yellow ball of flame and smoke wreathing its head dispersed in less than a moment by the moving dreadnought. When it emerged, n ot a single scale appeared out of place on its rubbery hide. I wish they hadn’t, but m y predictions
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