116 | John W. Warner IV Fire on my command. Fisherman, another frag She pointed. Fire your machinegun on my mark. Three gunsWhirling Dervish. Aye, mum.Takuta shoved in another fragmentation round and made ready on the right side of the main gun, his left eye pressed on the MG-34 sight, nothing much better than a small hole in the mantle armor. Bea traversed the turret full speed in the same direction of the faster-spinning hull. Now! Fire-fire! She blasted another hole to the left of the tank; troops fell. She ejected the smoking shell and grabbed another from the ready rack, straining, eyes bulging. Oof! Gwafa jammed the stick on the gas pedal. A full sixty-second, 360-degree traverse ensued as Takuta and Gwafa fired their machineguns in long bursts, felling troops and scattering others using up three-quarters of the ammunition from the lower magazines. She fired another devastating shot into the ground behind them causing a plume of shrapnel, then loaded another after dropping itShite!the intense blast wave putting out the fire on their rear deck like a blown match, the tiny shell fragments nicking their hull, an action akin to a boy throwing a fist of pebbles at a passing Bigboy steam train, their besieged Tiger defending itself well, the comic book manual spot-on in its tutelage when consumed by a highly motivated crew high on combat fever. Fire! Thanks George, she thought. Remaining troops fell back at the onslaught; a few wounded were ground into the reddened sand under their wide tracks. An unholy mess worthy only of Danies Inferno. Another Panzer, a Mark II, fired at them from behind at 300 meters distance. Its low-velocity 50 mm round hit their vertical, flat rear armor and D-rings, damaging them, then changed position quickly. Light and fast. Blitzkrieg tactics. That plump little pig, always taking a pot at us from nowhere with its gobshite pop gun. Bea. then spied a big brown lump through the palms at a distance; she twisted the magnification lever to high. Wait.. .sweet Moses in Manheim, the Famo halftracks, parked in a row, heavily camouflaged under nets, yet juicy targets. Gwafa, half ahead. Takuta, high explosive round. Lets start a fire or two, shall we? She elevated the barrel and calculated the 1000-meter distance. All stop. Takuta fired a burst of tracers at the target. Remembering mere fragments of her Newtonian physics, she took a guess