6
At oh five fifty hours the next morning Bombardier Johnny Walker rang the doorbell to the female accommodation barrack block and stood back to await an answer. He wasn't kept waiting long, Julia Martinez, still slightly sleepy, bustled out of the door and stood shivering for a moment in the dawn chill.
She looked about her in disbelief, "How's this going work in this... fog? Is it going to be worth the hassle of … everything?"
"Sure is!" Johnny told her emphatically but not without a feeling of sympathy. "This just morning mist, give it another hour or so and it'll be as clear as a bell. If the met boys have got it right - ha! - it's going to be a scorcher too, about twenty eight degrees in the shade by lunchtime – and there's precious little shade on the plain!" and as he looked at her BDU's he grinned, "If you and your Captain are wearing the same, you're going to be better off than the BK and me! You've got those floppy brimmed hats, they'll give you some shade, her and me have to wear these damned berets! So no shade, and what's more they're dark, and going to attract the heat like anything!" As he finished speaking, he opened the Landrover door for Julia and watched her climb in, regretting briefly that she was wearing BDU pants and not her service dress skirt.
Julia settled herself into the passenger seat, and smiled across at Johnny as he climbed in behind the wheel, "What's twenty eight degrees in real temperature?" she queried.
"Um... Oh... yeah... about eighty two, eighty three degrees," Johnny replied, having done a quick mental calculation.
Julia blinked, she had only meant to tease the Brit, but his quick comeback intrigued her, "How did you do that so quickly?" she asked.
"Oh, it's only a rough method – if I had pen and paper handy I could work it out exactly, but for a quick calc, just double the Celsius figure, add thirty to that, and then knock a couple of degrees off – the higher the temperature the more you knock off. This time, 'cos it was in the high twenties, when I converted I knocked off three degrees from the final answer, At twenty degrees, I'd just knock off two from the result. Like I say," he shrugged, "It's just a rough equivalent, but near enough for everyday purposes."
Julia shook her head and grinned across at him. The rest of the drive to the cookhouse – all two minutes of it was spent in silence.
Julia found it quite a contrast from dinner the evening before. The huge room was devoid of life except for two men in chef's whites, busying themselves preparing some three hundred breakfasts. Johnny crossed to the hot plate and called one of them, "Hey, Dusty, your two early breakfasts are here, and we'll need the four haverbags booked for the BK one seven four. Is there a brew mashed, yet?"
"Course there is," Corporal Dusty Miller, grunted as he passed an opened GP Ration Box across to Johnny.
Johnny gave the contents a quick visual check and grinned, "Thanks, Dusty, that's grand! I owe you!"
"Yeah, and don't you forget it!" He turned to his scurrying minion, "Where are those early breakfasts? Honestly," he turned back to Johnny and said disparagingly, "I dunno where they get 'em from these days!"
"Same place as they got us a few years back!" Johnny grinned.
"Christ almighty, we weren't that bad were we?" Dusty grinned and then with a mock sigh of despondency, he went to chivvy the Private Chef.
Johnny dropped the box next to a table and turned to Julia, "Tea?" he asked.
"No coffee?" she asked plaintively.
"You should be so unlucky" Johnny said not unsympathetically, "and be thankful it's tea. Look, army tea is pretty bad, but it's drinkable, but the slop-jockeys have never managed to get their heads around making coffee, and to be honest, it's bloody awful coffee to start with!"
"So... it's tea or nothing?" Julia asked.
"'Fraid so..."
"Oh well, in that case, yes, I'd love a cup of tea," Julia twinkled at him
xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx
Gill knocked on the door of Captain Rabb's room, and to her surprise heard him call "Enter!" Cautiously opening the door she said, "It's Captain Shephard, sir. Are you decent?"
"Yes, come on in," Harm replied as Gill heard the characteristic one-two stamp of someone settling their bloused trousers over their boots. She entered the room just as he picked up his floppy brimmed hat, or his 'cover' as she had learned the US Navy called their headdress.
"Are you about ready for breakfast, sir?" she asked.
"Yeah, sure am!" he grinned, "but don't think I didn't enjoy dinner last night!"
"I wouldn't dream of it, sir!" she assured him. "Can I give you a hand with anything, sir? If you take your kit down with you, it'll save an extra trip!"
"Yeah," Harm grinned, "And if I walk down with you, it might even save me from wandering the hallways for another half hour or so!"
Gill blushed, 'That smile ought to be illegal!' she thought indignantly, 'I mean, he's not bad looking, not really, but that smile does something to his whole face!', but she also blushed as she recalled her lapse in manners of the previous evening just because she'd been sulking about a duty she'd never wanted. And it must have been as bad for him, she had picked up subtle hints that he wasn't too happy being here, either.'
"Truly, sir, I am sorry about that!"
"Don't worry about it, Captain. It was a suitable sized portion of humility, just about my big enough!"
Gill chuckled and indicated his suit bag, "Can I take that for you, sir? My stuff is already downstairs!"
Harm raised his eyebrows slightly, "No, I'll take that, it's got my Mess Dress and my Service Dress Whites in it, and is probably heavier than this," he hefted his sea-bag.
"Are you taking all your kit, sir?" Gill asked in surprise, "I will be perfectly safe here."
"I'm sure it will Captain, but I intend leaving for London as soon as the demonstration is over tomorrow!"
Gill stiffened, "Of course, sir. I'm sure I can understand your keenness to get back to civilisation!"
"Oh, Lord!" Harm groaned, "Please, there's no need to poker up, Captain. I didn't mean to imply that I was eager to get away from yo – from here. It's just that I have a lot to do next week before I return to the States, and I want to get a head start on it!"
"You're going back to States?" Gill asked, furrowing her brow, 'if he was going back to the USA, why all the fuss to get him to Larkhill Day?'
"Oh, only a temporary thing, Captain. I'm going back for the Fourth of July weekend, primarily to check on my ward - " Harm cut himself off, conscious that he had nearly said too much.
"Your ward, sir?" Gill couldn't resist asking and then wished she could bite her tongue off.
"Yes, I'm applying for legal adoption so that she can leave the States and come to live with me here. The hearing is on Monday."
'Ah! That's why he was so anti coming here!' Gill thought. "I wish you all the best with that, then, sir!"
"No, do you? Why?" Harm asked interestedly.
"Well... it's obvious that it's something that you want... that it's important to you.. and I... I don't wish to... to... see you disappointed... I mean, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but that doesn't mean that I... Oh, dear..." Gill broke off, red-faced with confusion and with embarrassment, "I'm not doing a very good job of explaining this, am I?" she finished with a half-smile.
"No, you're not." Harm agreed gravely, "But thank you for your good wishes! Now, shall we head for the breakfast table?"
"Of course, sir! But your uniforms; you might have difficulty finding somewhere to change after the demo finishes tomorrow..."
"Oh... I hadn't thought of that!" Harm admitted, taking his turn to be embarrassed. "Just one moment, then!" He laid the suit bag flat on the bed and unzipped it, removing his Dress Whites and turning hung them in the closet, or wardrobe, as the Brits called it. Re zipping the bag, he hefted it in one hand and his sea-bag in the other
"Well, with my Dress Whites gone, I think I can manage both of these! Captain, lead the way!"
"Yes, sir!" Gill replied crisply.
xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx
Johnny and Julia drew themselves up into the 'at attention' stance and saluted as Harm and Gill, both carrying suitbags and overnight gear emerged from the doors to the Mess and made their way down the stone steps to the tarmac hard standing.
The two officers dropped their overnight bags and returned their subordinates' salutes; Johnny thought it was weird that Julia held her salute until her boss had returned it, while Julia was shocked to see Johnny's hand come back down to his side, before Captain Shephard had returned his salute.
But the formalities, accompanied by a litany of "Good morning, sir, ma'am" completed, Johnny hopped into the back of the Landrover and carefully hung both suitbags from the frame that supported the canvas tilt and equally carefully stowed both Harm's sea-bag and Gill's overnight bag alongside the radios attached to the bulkhead that divided the cab from the rear of the vehicle.
He jumped back down from the vehicle into the middle of a spirited discussion between Captain USN and Captain RA.
"It's not going to happen Captain!" Harm declared firmly. "There is no way I am sitting up front, while you are being thrown around in the back of that... that... thing!" he expostulated.
"You don't have any choice, sir!" Gill argued, "It's protocol! The senior officer – which is you today – rides up front, and the peasants – which today is me and your driver, well, we ride back here!"
"Protocol or no damn' protocol, I can't let a wo..."
"Don't you dare call me a woman!" Gill erupted. "As far as you are concerned, I am nothing more than just another officer!"
Harm groaned, "For Christ's sake, don't you dare tell me 'I'm a Marine'!"
Gill almost took a step back in surprise, "Why on earth would I do that?" she snapped.
"Because I had a Marine partner, who... Oh! Nice try at deflection, Captain, but it's still not working! You ride up front, and I'll ride in back!"
"Can't do it, sir!" Gill said, her mouth set in a stubborn line and her chin jutting forwards, pugnaciously "My CO would have..."
Johnny had listened to this dispute conscious of impatience as time was wasting, but unsure whether his primary emotion was that of amusement or frustration, but whichever it was, he took the plunge. "Sir, ma'am?"
They both turned to glare at him, "What?" they demanded in unison.
"Umm... just a suggestion, but seeing as how you can't make up your minds about who's riding where, why not let the Petty Officer ride up front with me? And then you can both ride in the back!" Johnny smiled disarmingly.
Both officers stared at him, stunned both by his suggestion and by the fact that he had the gall to make it in the first place, while Julia gazed at him in horrified surprise.
"Bombardier!" Gill rapped out.
"Ma'am?" Johnny replied courteously.
"One day, Bombardier, one day that smart mouth will get you the DCM you so richly deserve!" Gill managed to keep a straight face, although she too was now torn between anger and amusement.
"Yes, ma'am!" Johnny replied totally unabashed, "And when it does, it's still you I'll be asking for as Prisoner's Friend, ma'am!"
Harm was hard put not to intervene, but he could not meddle in the internal discipline of a British Army regiment, and as he reached that decision, he not only saw the funny side of the situation, but he was strongly reminded of the times that Coates had subtly chewed his ass for being more than ordinarily dumb.
"Uh... Captain Shephard?" he said quietly.
"Sir?"
"My apologies, I was being – in the words of my Yeoman – more than ordinarily dumb. If it is protocol and breaking it would bring the wrath of Colonel Mike down on your head, then of course I must do as you request. You may ride in back, and I will ride up front."
Gill heaved a sigh of relief, "Thank you, Sir! Petty Officer," she turned to Julia, "you first!"
"Aye, aye, ma'am!" Julia replied and scrambled into the vehicle, heartily glad to be out of what had looked like becoming an embarrassing incident.
Johnny closed the tailgate, and looked into the interior, where the two women now sat, "It's going to be a scorcher, ma'am," he said conversationally, "Did either of you think to bring any sun-block?"
Julia shook her head, while Gill looked chagrined, "I can nip back up and..."
"No worries, ma'am!" Johnny fished in the left breast pocket of his combat smock and produced a small, brown, plastic bottle, "SPF thirty five, ma'am. Pass it on to the Petty Officer, when you're done, please!"
Yes, of course," Gill said and then grinned, "Bom, you're going to make some lucky woman a hell of wife one day!"
Johnny just grinned in return and disappeared around the driver's side of the vehicle, where in a few seconds he climbed in, settled himself behind the wheel and turned the ignition key.
xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx
Harm sat back and gripped one handed on the superstructure as the Landrover bounced over the sun-baked ruts in the Salisbury Plain chalk, and glanced across the width of the cab where Johnny, having dropped the vehicle into second gear fought the bucking, kicking, steering wheel.
Johnny felt the American Captain's eye on him and grinned sideways, "Nearly there, sir! Just a couple of hundred yards to go!" he nodded to a cluster of vehicle some hundred yards behind what looked like, to Harm's eye, a widely spaced row of tanks.
"Good!" Harm gritted between his teeth as an exceptionally deep rut threatened to bounce his head off the superstructure.
"It could be worse, sir!" Johnny shouted over the noise of the vehicle, "It could be raining!"
Harm looked up at the cloudless blue sky, and then gave Johnny a 'You've got to be kidding!' look, before shaking his head in resignation.
In the rear of the vehicle there was nothing much that either Captain RA or Petty Officer USN could do except grab hold of the superstructure and hang on grimly as the Landrover bucked, crawled and leaped across the ruts carved into the unforgiving chalk by the passage of thousands of vehicles over the years.
Consequently, it was with distinct feeling of relief that they realised they had reached their destination, and gratefully dismounted. Harm looking around with interest to see that they were now about a hundred yards behind the tanks, while off to the rear some three to four hundred yards were what he instinctively thought of as a set of bleachers, now crammed with the uniforms of half a dozen different NATO armies.
Johnny could hardly hide a smile, while he and Captain Rabb still looked reasonably neat and tidy, Captain Shephard and Julia were both covered in head to foot with a fine powdering of chalk dust, the inescapable result of travelling across the plain in an open backed vehicle in this sort of weather. Taking pity on them he fumbled his keys out of his pocket and opened one of the two stowage bins under the seats in the back of the vehicle and pulled put a folding canvas bucket, and the climbing into the truck, he pulled out a black, plastic Jerry can from where he had wedged it alongside the radios.
"Here ma'am, it won't do much for the uniform, but it'll help with your hands and face," he grinned, as he half-filled the bucket and passed it to Gill.
Gill took the bucket and passed it straight on to Julia, "You first Petty Officer," she instructed Julia.
"Yes, ma'am, thank you!" the grateful Yeoman said and cupping her hands splashed the water over her face, thanking all the powers that be that she had chosen to use waterproof eye make up this morning. Not that she wore much, that would have been against her inclinations and Dress Regulations, both, but still...
Gill followed suit and then with a grin called into the back of the vehicle, "No towel, Bom? You're slipping!"
"No need for one ma'am, in this heat you'll dry off pretty quickly, and then later when it gets hotter, you'll be soaked with sweat! Oh, reminds me!" He dived back into the stowage and produced four web belts, each wrapped around a water bottle. "We'll probably need these, ma'am. I filled 'em up before we left Tidworth. Can you show the Captain and the Petty Officer how to adjust 'em, please, ma'am? I need to net-in."
Gill turned to her task with a wry grin, showing the two visitors how to adjust the belts for comfort and fit, while at the same time becoming aware of the electronic hum and crackle know coming from the radios mounted in the Landrover.
"Hello all stations, this is Zero. Tune antennae, out!"
With a hurried, "Excuse me!" to Harm Gill hurried around to the antenna mount on the vehicle's wing, "OK, Bom, go ahead!" she called.
Johnny thumbed the pressel switch on the microphone while Gill checked the reading on the ATU dial, "OK Bom!" she called, giving him a thumbs up.
Hardly had she given the signal when the radio crackled into life again, "Hello all stations, this is Zero, radio check, over!"
Johnny quickly glanced at the Signal Instructions and waited for his turn to reply as the net came alive "One, OK, over!" started the sequence, and Johnny mentally counted off the various stations listed on the Signals Instructions until at last it was his turn to respond, "Seven Niner Alpha, OK, over!"
"These are comparatively short range VHF sets," Gill explained to Harm, "and what we've just heard is the start up for any net at the beginning of an exercise. Zero, is the controlling station and is just making sure that everybody that is supposed to be on net is in fact present and has their sets manned. We'll be hearing exactly the same with the Tech Net – that is the net used for transmitting fire orders – in a few minutes. We aren't officially on that net, so Bombardier Walker won't be replying. It's just that hearing that net, will make it all a little more interesting and a lot more educational for you. Well, I hope so, anyway!" she finished with a smile.
Harm nodded, "OK, I got that – I think. But what about what we can see?" he nodded towards the activity taking place in front of them.
Gill pursed her lips. "Well in front of us, nearest to us are three batteries of AS-Nineties, one five five millimetre, each battery has six guns, divided into three sections of two each. Each battery is controlled by a command post, that's the smaller tracked vehicles behind the guns, and all three batteries are commanded by the FDC – the Fire Direction Centre, which in turn is under the command of the Control station. There are two FDCs deployed at the moment, call signs one and two. Call sign one is right there, and if you look forward of the AS-Nineties, you can see two batteries of Light Guns, they're one oh five millimetre, each with its own CP and just back from them, is call sign two.
Harm had been trying to followed Gill's explanation, but one point was niggling at him, "Um... you keep talking about guns, but I don't see any?" he queried.
Gill looked at him in astonishment, "But... but... they're right there in front of us, the AS-Nineties, the Light Guns..."
"Oh..." understanding dawned on Harm, "I... uh... thought they were tanks! And... uh... I was looking for rifles and pistols... and even machine guns... And I was wondering how they fitted into an artillery demonstration..." he faltered to a stop, feeling somewhat embarrassed.
Gill would have laughed if she hadn't felt it would have been unkind, so she bit her tongue and tried to explain, "No, well, first off, they're not tanks, they're self-propelled guns – artillery pieces, and as for the nomenclature, well...it's all a bit of archaic usage, I suppose; tradition and that sort of thing... From the earliest days we've called artillery pieces guns... no... that's not exactly true... originally they were called 'Great Guns', while infantry weapons were originally called muskets, but over time, we in the Gunners came to refer to them all as small-arms, and officially that's what any weapon carried on the person is, from pistols right up to the Gimpy..."
"Gimpy?" Harm asked, even more baffled.
"Oh, sorry, the General Purpose Machine Gun..., it's a bit like your M-60..."
"Ah..." Harm nodded, "I think I understand, now."
"Anyway, once the Tech Net opens, you'll hear the FDCs refer to themselves as Zero, and Bombardier Walker will switch frequencies between the two FDCs so we can hear what's happening."
"Speaking of which, ma'am," Johnny interrupted her, "it's all about to kick off..."
"Thank you, Bom! Sir, if we go and sit up front, we can use the headsets and hear what's happening!"
"It's your turf," Harm replied with a smile, standing back to let her lead the way.
Johnny sat on one of the bench cushions he had acquired for the day, a headset clamped to one ear, leaving his other ear free so he could hear what was being said to him, while, after his encouragement, Julia had come right forward peering over the top of the sets and gaining a slightly restricted view of the action.
As she made herself as comfortable as possible, he suddenly grinned and passed her the headset.
Julia held it to her ear just in time to hear "Grid, eight seven six, five four three, altitude, one two five, direction four eight five five. Soft skin vehicles in open! At my command! Adjust fire!"
Julia looked questioningly at Johnny, who merely nodded his head and pointed forward. Julia turned to ,look over the top of the sets again as the radio burst into life once more. In the cab of the Landrover Harm turned to Gill and asked, "How can you tell who is talking to whom?"
Giull nodded, "A fair question. We are listening to the Tech net at the moment and that's the OP, I think their call sign wassa Two One, talking to the CP, Call sign One, with Zero listening in and logging the target information.
"Yeah but how do you know? All I can hear is one voice repeating what the other says." Harm objected.
"Well true enough, but there are a couple of conventions at work here, or rather rules of VP - Voice Procedure - First no-one, not even the CO is allowed on the net if there are fire orders being passed, and secondly, once comms between the OP and the CP or FDC have been established, then call signs are dropped for speed of transmission - that's why no-one else is allowed on the air. Oh, and there's an important difference between US and UK practice. In the US Army artillery observers are NCOs who can only request fire. In the RA our FOOs are officers and they order fire. Do you see the distinction?"
"Yeah, I think I do..." Harm conceded
"Ready three two, over!"
"Ready, three two, out! - Cancel at my command!"
One of the guns just off centre to the right of Julia, Gill and Harm's line of sight, rocked back on its tracks, as a strangely metallic explosion was heard and an almost perfect smoke circle was blown from its muzzle. Julia uttered a little squeak of surprise, broadening Johnny's smile, and even though he and Gill had been expecting the shot, both of them jumped a little in their seats, as did Harm.
"Shot one, over!"
"Shot one, out!"
There followed a short pause until the radio was heard again, "Right one hundred, drop fifty, over!"
"Right one hundred, drop fifty, out!"
Again the sound of a single round of gunfire was heard, and although Julia restrained her squeak this time around, she couldn't stop herself from jumping slightly, as the now becoming familiar voice sounded in her ear,
"Shot one, three one, over!"
"Shot one, three one, out!"
Again there was a pause, then "Five rounds fire for effect, over!"
"Five rounds fire for effect, out!"
The noise was much louder now, as the six guns in the centre of the gun line started firing, each gun firing five rounds as fast as it could, until thirty one hundred and fifty five millimetre shells were sent howling through the air to burst on the target some eleven thousand metres away, leaving the Gun Position wreathed in smoke.
Harm blinked at the flurry of activity just discernible to him, and turned to Gill, "OK, from the point of view of sturm und drang, that was pretty impressive, but what's the effect at the..."
"End of mission, target destroyed estimate one five enemy vehicles burning. Good shooting, over!"
"I think that answers your question, sir," Gill grinned.
"End of mission, target destroyed, estimate one five enemy vehicles burning, out!"
"Sounds pretty impressive," Harm conceded, "but how do we know that is an accurate BDA?"
"Well it should be!" Gill replied, "We are observers here on the Gun Line, but there are other observers up at the OP, who would be quick to report any fudging of the results."
"OK... can we get up..."
"We're scheduled for the OP this afternoon, sir. And then tomorrow morning we get to observe the danger close shoot – from the Bombard Shelter!" she added hastily as she saw a startled expression sweep across his face. "And if you like, I'll double down to the FDC, and see if Five Four's Adjutant will let us close enough so that you can observe the detachments in action. I can't promise that he will though!"
Harm nodded, "Yeah, I'd like to see that, if it can be done."
It was about twenty minutes before Gill returned to the vehicle, a smile on her face. "It took a bit of talking, but I got him to agree we could take the vehicle down to the FDC, and go forward on foot from there as far as the DROPs pallets. So... take us down to Five Four's FDC, please, Bom!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
Once at the FDC they were able to see more clearly what was happening as FDCV and guns interacted with each other and with the OP. Each Fire Mission that came through required a different mission envelope, and Gill was kept busy explaining the difference between linear and convergence shoots, and what a hundred per cent zone and fifty per cent zones were.
However while Harm and Gill lost themselves in an almost student and instructor role, Julia was not having fun. While appreciating the teamwork that went into conducting a shoot, she didn't much like the almost constant sound of gun-fire, and despite the ear defenders that Johnny loaned her, she could still hear all too clearly for her comfort, each round as it was fired.
Johnny was not unsympathetic, although his days as a gun number were long gone, he still volunteered to serve as an ammo number on live firing exercises to help make up the permanent shortfall in manpower and so was still sufficiently inured to the sound of gun-fire for it not to trouble him. Even so, he could appreciate the effect that the sound and shock weaves could have on the unitiated.
"Try to grin and bear it, for a while longer," he encouraged Julia, we're nearly at the end of the guns' serial, and then once lunch is over, we'll be heading up to the OP, where things are a lot quieter!"
Julia could only smile weakly in response, and silently pray that lunchtime would roll round quickly, while trying to make light of the way she felt, "Almost enough to put me off fireworks!" she said through her smile.
"Hey you can't say that!" Johnny protested through his own grin, "That would be un-American wouldn't it?"
"How so?" Julia demanded.
"Isn't there a line in the US national anthem about the rocket's red glare, or something like that?" he queried.
Julia just gaped at him blankly, totally taken by surprise, until she shook her head and giggled.
"That's better!" Johnny commended her; he'd been following the exercise schedule – or The Pink as it was known – pretty closely. "Anyway, there's only one more serial for the guns before lunch, and then it's time for some real fireworks. You might want to dismount to watch this." He smiled in real sympathy, "It's much quieter than the guns."
Julia hesitated, "Come on," he encouraged her, "It won't hurt!"
Julia managed a stronger version of her grin this time, even if it wasn't the full-blown smile he'd seen the evening before, "I bet you say that to all the girls!" she quipped.
Johnny laughed out loud, and extended a hand to lend her support as she dismounted from the vehicle, stretching her back and stamping her feet as she did so.
In the meantime Johnny had been watching for a dust plume along the track leading back to the School of Artillery, and grunted in satisfaction when he saw it. "Watch this," he recommended in keen anticipation.
Soon they could all see six squat, tracked vehicles moving at speed along the track until they were almost level with Gill's Landrover, when, as one, the six swung right, forming a line abreast and came to an abrupt halt, and then to the surprise of Harm and Julia, the back half of each vehicle seemed to split away from the main body and elevate and swivel. And within less than a minute each vehicle had started launch a ripple salvo of twelve rockets, which, although a quieter procedure than the firing of either the AS-Nineties or the Light Guns, was still loud enough to be heard clearly.
As soon as the launches were complete, the box-like missile racks swivelled and dropped into place, and with a roar of engines, the tracked the vehicles spun in their own length and roared off the gun position.
"Bom?" Gill asked.
"Ninety eight seconds, ma'am!" Johnny reported with fierce satisfaction. "I wish we'd had some of those in Basra!"
"That was the MLRS," Gill explained to Harm. "With extended range ammunition they can hit targets up to ninety kilometres away, and with the sub-munition warhead, they can … Bom, what was the nickname for the MLRS?"
"Grid square removal system, ma'am!" Johnny replied cheerfully.
"Yes, thank you! That's the reputation they have," she smiled at Harm, "You'll see that this afternoon!" Gill promised. Harm nodded. He had tried to remain impassive, but he could appreciate the teamwork involved by those at the OP, in the FDC and CPs and on the guns. And he had truly been impressed by the Multi Launch Rockets they had just witnessed, although he steadfastly refused to recognise that ground based artillery was in way superior to a strike delivered by a section of F-14s, or, as he supposed he must get used to thinking, F/A-18s.
His musing were interrupted when Johnny addressed Gill, "Ma'am, lunch here or at the OP?"
Gill looked at her watch, "No move before thirteen thirty, Bom, according to The Pink, so I'll just have a word with the FDC, and then we'll pull back to our original position along with the Zulu muster, we'll lunch there, and then move out on time!"