terminus ad quem

A Toast to the Guns
By them we live,
For them we would die.
Whatever the Mission,
We'll give it a try.

We'll serve them with Honor
For they are the ones;
That make us Artillerymen,
So here's to the Guns:
TO THE GUNS!
- Unknown

"Tee...minus...one..."

Peel diverged his optics away from the corpse. The infiltrated observer was dead, but he'd stuck to his job, even if he botched it a tad.

He softened things, and it was high time to test how well by initiating the engagement.

"Sappers forward!"

Peel tilted his view down at the snaking attachments of several Bangalore Torpedoes approaching the base's thick outer berm. Near the source of the snaking tubes, Peel saw the nervous fidgeting of the cheap mercs with the Chicom (Chinese Communist) Claymore clackers. The sappers gestured "ready."

This was where the stomach acid nearly doubled him over. They'd rehearsed this, but if the attack wasn't TOT (Time On Target), he feared they wouldn't have the shock value to win.

One last time, Peel glanced at his LCD stopwatch, turned left to his

aide, and gave an order to be relayed.

"Yes Sir. Attack orders T-minus 30. Set stopwatch. Fire on command."

The order passed through the ranks.

A full 2/3erd the way behind Peel's FLOT (Forward Line Of Troops), a quintet of Denel

G6 tubed guns, upgraded with techno-thrilling Denel G6-52 extras, poured a Patmos nightmare out. Multiple rounds (six) lobbed from each gun in one rapid sequence, variously propelled to impact simultaneously on the same target by means of the G6-52's advanced AS2000 artillery target engagement system.

By way of a "variable volume chamber," the first shell was fired with the maximum powder charge at an extremely high trajectory for a deep arc time, with subsequent shells yielding less powder and shallower arcs. All this made a highly advanced TOT possible, changing 'hang times' so all rounds would land simultaneously. Think an artillerist conducted shock and awe.

As the descent continued, Peel heard his aide shouting for the strela missile teams to reenact a tactic developed by a warrior named Archer during the long struggle against Soviets.

"Sappers! Execute!" As he wished, the Bangalore charges collapsed a wave of sand gradients after tripping the base's defensive charges. Exhaust trails progressed westward betwixt lazy air molecules, hungry for the thermal bleeding emanating from the manned towers, where space heaters kneaded heat against chilled bodies.


In The Base

Jamal's limp head flopped about as Ricci fireman-carried him over the berm.

"Rub al Khali" he murmured, seeing the west. Spooked by an absurdly punctuated pulse, Ricci chucked the Iraqi to Nimec, and face-planted into a gravel patch.

"What'd he say?"

"Behold, our open fly."

Ricci braved a sighting.

"Yeah, we're open over there. Here they come."

He'd anticipated the cinematic view of the rushing Arabian zealot in the flowing mishlah+ and duct-taped AK with the banana clip, checkered martyr scarf weaved around his face, but the former SeaAirLand operative took in a different picture; Gulf War veterans, almost, reasonably fit men in mottled tan clothing- Desert Storm patterns!- and better Kalashnikovs with orange magazines.

Then they disappeared from Ricci's elevated view, behind one tiny line, a puny berm passing as the last obstruction to their way in. Local charges detonated, generating points of entry. Ricci lined up his dot.

The decelerator pad pressed hard on the meat of his shoulder. Tom followed the ballistic track, saw it enter a sapper's Gulf War 6-shade jacket, trade speed for brute energy, lifting him in a backward summersault. Out the other side of the ribcage, with plenty of energy to continue flight. The impact and exit caused great lacerations on both sides of the ribcage. Sheared bone opened the lung, creating entryways for fluid.

"Pete, the gun will do."


+Rub al Khali 'The Empty Quarter'. The name of a bleak void of a desert waste that comprises the southeastern part of Saudi Arabia. In this context, Nimec's translation was correct.

+mishlah

Arabian robe or cloak. It comes in black, brown or cream.


Alongside Highway #7, Southern Iraq

Vladimir Plekhanov labeled it Al Qadi+ but in law enforcement and military circles, it was a HERF- High Energy Radio Frequency- gun, an improvised electronic gun used for crashing electronic systems. Seeing it as a homemade weapon, Mikhayl Ruzhyo didn't have complete faith in the gun's utility. Even so, little risk existed in firing the device. It wasn't really much more than a Tesla coil attached to a battery, but it could do something the insurgents couldn't do regularly; stop a coalition vehicle. He cut the powerful Warrior Infantry Fighting Vehicle with the static blast of Nikola Tesla's electric howitzer, fusing the Warrior's silicon grids together, electrically killing the armored beast. That didn't stop the single L21 Rarden cannon.

Gospel, Scimitar, Strelok, Job Geroj, and Zemya ducked behind the dune with him. True to his name, Geroj instantly popped back up to impose his M72's radioluminescent white cross hair over the vehicle. Firing at over 200 meters, it was quite a low-percentage shot for such a high risk, but then again, that's why they call him the hero.

Though Iraq's deserts were littered with enough radiological waste, Geroj cast the LAW, along with the promethium-147-illuminated sighting device, aside in the sand. Ruzhyo honed his senses, which indicated a buff report.

"I'm no Mufti, but you hit metal, comrade hero." The rifle cornered the dune, eyed soot emitting from the armoured vehicle. His scope probed for the gunner. The Johny had ducked, but the beige helmet remained prone to the cross-hairs. The duel burst left two holes, but only one entry wound. Mikhayl diligently trained his tool above the Warrior as he called for Zemya to sight the exit ramp and Strelok to cover the road to the south.

"Scimitar, Gospel, terminate the survivors, and Geroj, set the parallel ambush, STAT."


+Qadi Arabic word for 'judge'.

+mufti

A Muslim cleric or legal expert. Authorized to render opinions on religious matters.


The Sky Above Baghdad

Doubtlessly the infidel had the believers exiled from the wonderful edifice of power, while they lazily rested in command of Allah's comfortable majlis+. Those were provided for the exclusive utility of Islam! The followers in the South aren't uprising as they should! They should angrily push the fight for their birthright, but instead, they lounge around listening to Cheb Mami wail sin on Radio Al Sawa Basra - 107.0 FM. Revolting stuff! But no longer; the Jinns are falling!

But the twenty suicide pilots weren't actually flying genies from a mythical land, they piloted Russian technology. MiGs from type 29 down to 21, machines left in the boneyards of Iran, not fit to fly until a Russian oligarch refurbished the machines with parts shipped from the Russian kleptocracy. Their measure of success relied on their ability to dash across the border on a one-way race toward stationary ground targets. By flying a one-way suicide mission, the supersonic jets could maintain after-burning power

for the duration. They didn't need a "Texaco," a flying gas station, and they didn't need authorization. They didn't even need to track moving targets, or worry about civilians.

All they needed was a few more seconds before an intercept.

VF-135 MiG CAP

"Warm and fuzzy solution, fox 3," another kill, "stick a fork in me, Cat's Eye, we're done here."

The VF-135 Naval Aviator banked East, running home. He'd expended his missile supply, but in the process, became America's first fighter ace (with the exception of Bronco Winters) since Vietnam. Still, it didn't feel right, removing oneself from battle as it's still hot. Both F-14 crewmen gazed longingly at what they left, seeing the strobes of a desperate swarm of Apache gunships climb at the shooting stars. Tracers and hellfires jumped from the strobes, arcing and climbing, sloping and colliding.

In a schoolyard, an Avenger unit joined in, saving the Green Zone from catastrophic explosions, but scattering debris anyway. The .50 caliber M3P guns of the Avenger proceeded the purge of Stinger missiles. By then, all the kamikazes were in their terminal phase.

When the fifty's staccato report ended, the MiGs Saddam was shipped to Iran had sparked Jahannam, Hell, in his capitol.


+majlis

Arabic reception or sitting room.


Author's Note: Thank you Cheah, MetalViscount, and Triptych for your input on this chapter, and I thank everyone for reading.