A Friendly Demonstration

by byrhthelm

Harm settles in to his new billet in a foreign country.

7. Chapter 7

7

Johnny pulled on the handbrake and switched off the ignition once he had driven the Landrover back to where the other vehicles were gathered. He jumped out of the cab, stamped his feet and walked around to the rear of the vehicle, "Can I give you a hand ladies? I need the wagon bed."

Gill gave him an inquiring glance to which he replied, "You're... er... sat on lunch ma'am. It's in the stowage..."

"Oh..." Gill shuffled sideways along the bench seat and allowed Johnny to give her a hand to dismount.

"Julia?" he prompted the American Petty Officer, extending a hand to her. His use of her first name, however drew a curious look from his BK.

"Uh... yeah... sure..." Julia squirmed along the seat and again Johnny stretched out a supporting hand, but to Gill's suddenly inquisitive eye, it seemed that the contact between the two NCOs was held for a second or so longer than was strictly necessary.

Once the two women had dismounted Johnny unlocked and opened the under seat stowage, retrieving and handing out the the four brown paper bags containing the packed lunches.

Gill accepted hers with a grimace of resignation, while Harm and Julia opened theirs curiously.

Each bag contained two cling-wrapped sandwiches, an apple, a protein bar, a packet of chips – or crisps, as Julia was learning to call them in the UK – and a small box of fruit juice.

Gill opened her sandwich packet and peered at each in turn, "How are your sandwiches, sir?" she asked Harm, "I've got corned beef and pickle, and egg mayonnaise..." she let her voice trail off in an unspoken question.

"H'mm.." Harm too opened his packet, "Yeah, the same..." he sighed, "Oh well, it won't be the first time I've been on half rations!"

"Tell you what, sir," Johnny stuck his head out of the rear of the vehicle where he seemed to be fiddling with the radios. "I like corned beef, so I'll swap you my egg-mayo for your beef and pickle?"

Harm blinked, he'd had very little to do with Gill's driver and had said even less to him, but a gift horse was a gift horse, "Thank you, Corp... uh... Bombardier! That's very generous of you!" he remembered the difference in Artillery ranks at the last second.

"Not really, sir," Johnny grinned, "I'm not that keen on mayo, at any time!"

The sandwiches redistributed, Johnny dived back into the Landrover, only to reappear a couple of minutes later with a pair of steaming paper cups in his hand, "Tea up, ma'am!" he called to Gill.

"Thank you, Bom," Gill grinned, "Is it drinkable?" she teased him.

Johnny took it in good part, it was after all his carefully constructed and nurtured reputation that he couldn't make a potable hot drink to save his life. "I hope so, ma'am," he grinned, "I am trying to impress somebody!"

Gill shook her head in mock despair, and walking around to the side of the vehicle she passed one passed one of the cups to a slightly bemused Harm, "Where did he..." he began.

"I didn't ask," Gill replied, "But knowing Bombardier Walker, he probably had a camping stove and kettle hidden in one of the storage bins!" she took a sip from her tea and placed her lunch bag on the flat wing of the vehicle.

Harm nodded approvingly, "Good initiative!" and took a sip of the steaming brown liquid in the cup, "God! What the hell...?"

Gill chuckled at the appalled expression on his face, "Oh, my fault! I forgot to warn you, army tea, isn't quite the same as ordinary tea!"

"No, I should say not!" Harm declared with feeling, as he took another, more cautious sip and then shook his head resignedly, "I just don't get you British at times. I mean, here you have a delicious oriental herbal infusion, and then you go and dump cow-juice in it! Uh... no offence..."

"None taken!" Gill agreed," but you're forgetting that the Central Asian tribes, like the Mongols, who acquired tea drinking from the Chinese, used to put butter in their tea! And this tea has been made with evaporated milk – I think you call it condensed milk, anyway it comes in cans..."

Harm shuddered, "OK, point taken, I'll drink my tea like a good little boy."

"Just as well," Gill agreed gravely, although her eyes were dancing, "There aren't any harbours around here for you to throw it in!"

Harm looked at Gill in surprise, it was hard to believe that less than twenty four hours ago, they were almost at each other's throats, and now, unless he was very much mistaken, she was poking fun at him!

Johnny looked after the departing officers in mock despair, "Come on Julia, if they haven't got the sense to get out of the sun, I have!" He led her to the other side of the vehicle and nodded to the thin patch of shade it provided. "It's not much, but at least it's out of the direct sun!"

Julia smiled appreciatively and thankfully lowered herself to the ground, her back against the side of the Landrover, "Pretty damn smart!" she observed with a grin, "but how come your officer never..."

"Ah, they're all the same!" Johnny observed philosophically, "Officers are clever, they've all got book smarts, all been to Sandhurst, or university... The trouble is, there ain't none of 'em got any common sense!" he finished heavily. Her took a bite of his corned beef sandwich, and grimaced, "God, I hate this stuff!" he muttered under his breath, but not quite quiet enough for Julia not to hear.

"I thought you said you liked beef and pickle?" she said, a puzzled frown on her face.

Johnny shrugged, "I lied. But I can eat it, but your Captain's a veggie, ain't he? So he can't. Anyway, I was telling you about officers," Johnny deflected the conversation away from dietary preferences, "There's an old saying in the Army, that the most dangerous animal in the world is a Second Lieutenant with a map and compass!"

Julia giggled, "But neither of them," she indicated the approximate position of Harm and Gill, "are Second Lieutenants."

"True," Johnny agreed and he appeared to consider the question as he looked at Julia, "But the BK was one at one time, and your bloke must have been your Navy's equivalent too!" he said eventually.

"Yeah..." Julia murmured, "Ensign Rabb... now, there's a thought!"

"Yeah! Second Lieutenant Shephard!" Johnny chuckled.

xxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx

Gill stuffed the wreckage of her lunch back into its brown paper bag and looked at her watch, "OK Bom, let's get packed up. Ready to move in five!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Johnny replied, jumping to his feet, and extending a hand to Julia.

Between them the two NCOs made short work of tidying the area and stowing away all the loose equipment in the vehicle. "All ready, ma'am!" Johnny reported, with more than a minute to spare.

Gill nodded in satisfaction, "OK, let's get this show on the road! Bom, we're due at OP Two Three, do you need a navigator?"

"No thanks, ma'am, I know two three, OK!" Johnny replied as he helped her and Julia into the back of the Landrover before closing and securing the tail-gate. He hurried around to the driver's side of the cab and climbed in behind the wheel, "All, OK, sir?" he asked Harm.

"Yeah, fine, thanks." Harm replied. He had been taken aback by the apparent casualness of the behaviour he had observed in the interactions between British officers and soldiers, and couldn't help but contrast it with the more rigid and more formal approach evinced by the USMC and to a slightly lesser extent by the US Navy. Certainly no driver of either service would have acted so casually around officers as this NCO did, not that Bombardier Walker showed any sign of disrespect, it was just that he seemed more relaxed, more human than a Marine Corporal would be. He had thought that the Brits would in fact be much more rigid in their approach,and could see that he not only needed to re-think his position, but perhaps also that he needed more information before he could make a valid judgement.

In the meantime, he gritted his teeth and made a grab for the vehicle's superstructure as it crawled, jolted and bounced its way along yet another deeply rutted and hard-baked track.

xxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx

Fortunately for Harm's teeth, after the track wound its way up a long ridge, Johnny was able to leave the track and cut across a stretch of short grass, almost lawn-like in its smoothness. Harm looked across at him and caught Johnny's grin of relief and saw the tension leave the younger man's upper body, and his hands relax on the wheel.

"A bit better, sir?" he said.

"Much, thanks." Harm replied, "Is it all like that?"

"Not quite all, sir. We're lucky with the weather this year, or so they say! We've had much less rain than usual, wouldn't surprise me if they come up with a hosepipe ban. But the thing is, during the winter it does get pretty wet, and tracked vehicles with their limbers can cut the ground up pretty badly, and the dry spell's made those ruts set like concrete. We're pretty high above the rest of the Plain, comparatively speaking, sir, and it's chalk under the grass, so what little rain we've had has just drained away without helping the ruts to collapse!"

Harm nodded, he hadn't understood every word that the British NCO had said, but he had gotten the general gist of his explanation, but, "So why do we have to drive in those ruts?" he asked.

"Believe it or not, sir, to minimise damage! If every vehicle took its own route across the Plain, then it wouldn't take long for the whole Plain to be covered with ruts! This isn't too bad up here. When the ranges aren't in use, the MOD rents the grassland out for sheep pasture – that's why the grass here is so short, but where sheep can't graze, the grass grows to about knee high, and that's not good for driving, so we'd have to stick to the tracks."

"And long grass is a bad thing, why exactly?"

"Well, sir, firstly, because the long grass hides old ruts and holes in the ground, and there are stories of more than one person having hit a hidden rut, and accidentally biting through their tongue, and secondly because the long grass can wind its way around vehicle prop and drive shafts, and REME tend to get a bit sarky when things like that happen!"

Harm nodded, and had yet another re-think about British Army NCOs, he couldn't think of many Corporals of his acquaintance who could have put cause and effect together so succinctly, but there were one or two things he needed clearing up, "REME?" he queried.

"Oh, sorry sir, Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, our first line repair blokes. Each regiment has a REME Light Aid Detachment attached to it. Their job is to keep all our guns, vehicles and equipment working whenever we bend it. So they don't appreciate having to do an extra couple of hours, cutting tightly wound grass from vehicle chassis and running gear, just because some dumb bastard decides to take a short cut!"

"No... I don't expect they would." Harm agreed, "But wouldn't the driver get charged with dereliction, or something?"

Johnny shrugged, "Well he might, but more'n likely he'd just pick up a bunch of extra duties from his BSM, unless the EME was feeling particularly nasty and sent up an NM and D report, and then the poor sod would probably get a section sixty-nine charge, neglect to the prejudice, or possibly a twenty-nine B charge, negligently performing his duty!"

"So..." Harm the attorney asked, "driving offences aren't usually charged?"

"Oh, no, sir! Minor ones like getting grass wrapped around the prop shaft no, but an RTA always results in a section sixty-nine, negligently driving a vehicle, and that's an automatic CO's orders, as would be a drink driving charge, but that would be a section seventy, committing a civil offence, but that one would probably go direct to DCM, or possibly be dealt with by a Civilian Court, depending on whether the offence took place on MOD land or not!"

"RTA, DCM?" Harm queried baffled by the plethora of abbreviations.

"Oh, sorry, sir! RTA is road traffic accident, a collision between a vehicle and something else; another vehicle a cyclist, a pedestrian... a DCM is a District Court Martial, that means it can dish out heavier awards than the CO, but less than a General Court Martial can."

Harm nodded, this was just a peek into an ally's disciplinary system, but much more to his taste than watching artillery in action. While he had been impressed by the slick speed with which calls for fire were answered, he was still unsure what possible value the experience could have for him as the Force Judge Advocate.

He mused for a few moments more until Johnny said, "Nearly there, sir!" indicating a pair of vehicles up ahead.

xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx

Gill thankfully dismounted from the rear of the vehicle almost the second it drew to a halt, bitterly regretting her stubborn adherence to procedures that dictated the senior officer ride in the cab, and then sighed silently, there was just no getting around it, it had had to be done. It would have been far wiser if she had arranged for two vehicles and drivers for the two days, but there it was. There was no use crying over spilt milk. Spilt milk indeed! For once in her life, she could sympathise with Sylvia Sims in 'Ice Cold in Alex', and she was really looking forward to getting to the Mess Bar before dinner and downing a half-pint of cold shandy, and thank God for Bombardier Walker's sun screen! For once the Met boys had been right on target, the day was a scorcher, with not a cloud in the sky and even up here on one of the Plain's highest points, there was barely a breath of air.

She walked around to the front of the vehicle just as Harm dismounted' he acknowledged her with a smile and a nod, "So what happens now?" he asked.

"I'll just go and check in with the FOO and let him know we're here. Then we can spread a map out on the bonnet, and follow the fire orders. Here," she handed him a pair of field glasses, "we can see the impact area from here, so you'll be able to observe the effects of fire for yourself – just so you can be sure there's no fudging!"

Julia also dismounted, but despite her best efforts to put a smile on her face, she didn't convince Johnny at all. He thought she look not just discontented but a little sick. "Hey, you feelin' alright?" he asked in a concerned voice.

"Just a little nauseous, I guess..." Julia confessed, "Getting bounced around in the back of that thing on top of lunch must have been a little too much for me..."

"Yeah, OK. Right, come on..." Johnny had parked so that the afternoon sun would create a greater depth of shadow along one side of the vehicle, and snagging one of the bench cushions from the interior of the Landrover, he threw it down in the shade and said, "Come on, come and sit down."

Julia attempted a smile of gratitude, but it was a poor attempt and only increased Johnny's concern as he got her settled. "Just hang on in there for a minute or two and you'll be fine. I've got to go and get netted in again."

He disappeared from her sight, and Julia thankfully closed her eyes. She hadn't been car-sick for years, but being bounced around in the comfort-less back of the Landrover really had set her stomach churning, and she was heartily glad to get out into the fresh air and into the shade.

Johnny intercepted Gill as she returned from the OP, "Ma'am, the Petty Officer's feeling a bit car-sick, so unless you need me, I'll go and sit with her until she's feeling a bit better."

Gill frowned, "Does she need to go sick?"

"No I don't think so, ma'am." Johnny replied, "just some peace and quiet and a chance for her tummy to recover."

"Alright, Bom, but if she gets worse, I want to know immediately!"

"Yes, ma'am," Johnny replied soberly. "So if I run the headsets out to the cab, will that be OK for you and Captain Rabb?"

"Yes, that's fine, Bom, thanks. Get that done and then go and make sure that the Petty Officer is OK!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Johnny turned on his heel and clambered into the rear of the wagon, where he not only fed the headsets through to the cab, but also hauled the jerry can out from it's position wedged between the radio sets and the side of the vehicle.

Lugging it around to the patch of shade, he sat down between it and Julia, "How are you doing, bonny lass?" he asked softly.

Julia opened her eyes and mustered up a half-smile, "Feeling like I was half-dead and wishing I was all the way there!" she quipped.

Johnny nodded sympathetically, "Have you drunk anything since lunch?"

Julia shook her head, and immediately wished she hadn't, "No," she gulped.

"OK..." Johnny pulled his water bottle out of its holder on his belt, "Here take a mouthful or two of this..."

Julia took the bottle with a grateful smile and raised it to her lips, "Ooh..." she breathed as she took the first sip, "That's not water... that's cold coffee!" and then as the full taste hit her, "Damn strong coffee too!"

"Yep, Tim Walker's special brew!" Johnny grinned.

Julia took another, longer sip, "Not bad," she allowed, "almost Jarhead grade! But... who's Tim Walker, your dad, your brother?"

"Nope that would be me!" Johnny grinned and sat back. His shoulders resting against the side of the Landrover.

"I thought your name was John?" Julia said her forehead creased in a frown.

"Nope, Johnny's my nickname!" Johnny said.

"OK... nicknames I can understand, in theory, but why call you Johnny?"

"It's inevitable. It's one of those traditional Army nicknames, like anyone with a surname of James is almost always called Jesse – after the American outlaw, same as anyone called Rhodes or Miller is always known as Dusty, or someone with the name of White is usually known as Chalky..."

"Yeah, OK... but why 'Johnny Walker'? Julia persisted.

"After a famous brand of Scotch Whisky!" Johnny finally admitted.

Julia chuckled, "Is that all? The amount of digging I had to do, anyone would think its was some dark and shameful secret!"

"Nah..." Johnny grinned, "It's just that I hate the damned stuff!"

"Johnny Walker, or all whisky?" Julia asked.

"All whisky!" Johnny declared emphatically!

Julia giggled.

xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxx

Gill rejoined Harm at the front of the Landrover, "Your Petty Officer's feeling a bit car-sick," she told Harm, "No, it's alright, Bombardier Walker's got it in hand, he's looking after her. If there's anything serious he'll let us know. But from my own experience, all she really wants is to be left in peace and quiet to recover."

Harm groaned, he had been about to hurry around the the vehicle to check on Martinez, but at Gill's words he relaxed slightly. "I've just been waiting for the other shoe to drop," he admitted.

"Sir?" Gill was puzzled.

"Well, it's been one thing after another recently, there was an incident at work, and then my driver broke her ankle playing volleyball! Damn volleyball, would you believe?" his head shake was witness to his own difficulty in accepting that fact, "and now you tell me Martinez is sick. Hell, if she gets car-sick, I'm glad she's not my full-time driver!"

"She's not your driver, sir?" a surprised Gill asked.

"No, she's a Yeoman, my personal admin assistant! And a damned good one too!"

"So how come she's driving you?" Gill asked curiously.

"Because she volunteered. She's one of the few people in my command that are cleared to drive in the UK, and she even went out and got a British driver's licence on her own initiative! But if she's going to get car sick at every little bump in the road..."

"In fairness to her, sir, I wasn't far off feeling a bit sick myself by the time we got here. It's not just the bumps in the road, but in this weather its pretty damn hot under that canvas tilt, and not having a fixed point to stare at doesn't help!" Gill defended the other woman. And it was true, it had been hot and claustrophobic in the back of the vehicle and the smell of hot canvas hadn't been particularly pleasant either.

"H'mm... alright... I haven't experienced it, so I suppose I should withhold judgement. I'll wait and see how she is tomorrow!"

The crackle of the radio as the net came to life for the afternoon's shooting had Gill snatching her headset up off the Landrover's front seat and pressing it to her ear as she fumbled it into place over her beret.

Harm clamped his own headset to his ears as Gill motioned for him to do so, just in time to hear. "...this is two one, fire mission battery over!"

"One, fire mission battery out!"

"Grid nine eight seven six five four, altitude one two zero, direction four four three eight, over!"

"Grid nine eight seven six five four, altitude one two zero, direction four four three eight, out!"

"Mixed enemy APCs and tanks, estimate company strength, over!"

"Mixed enemy APCs and tanks, estimate company strength, out!"

Gill had an unfolded map spread out on the bonnet of the Landrover and was following the Grid Reference with a pencil, making a small cross on the appropriate spot on the map.

Harm raised an eyebrow.

"Just wait a few seconds," she said quietly, and then the net sprung to life again.

"One ready, three five, over!"

"One ready, three five, out!"

"That means the time of flight of the adjusting round will be thirty five seconds," Gill told Harm.

"At my command, adjust fire, over!" came the voice of the OP's signaller

"At my command, adjust fire, out!" replied the CP.

"That's the OP telling the CP that the guns are not to fire until the OP gives them permission."

"Why would he do that?" Harm asked.

"Oh... he might be preparing to fire on a moving target and have sent the Grid Reference for a point in front of an advancing enemy, or behind a retreating one, or he might be giving friendly troops time to get out of the way, or to take cover. That's why the OP needs to know the time that the shell is in flight." Gill explained.

The radio hummed into life again, as the OP came back on the air.

"Cancel at my command, over!"

"Cancel at my command out!"

"One, Shot one, over!"

"Shot one, out!"

That's the CP telling the Op that they have fired an adjusting round from number one gun," Gill grinned, and looked down at her watch, "OK, from where we are, look half left, about three thousand metres, do you see some little black specks, just below the skyline?"

Harm nodded.

"OK, when I give the word, bring your binos to bear on them, and you should see the splash. Wait... wait... wait..." Gill carried on looking at her watch, "Now!"

Harm brought his binoculars up to his eyes and the little black specks leaped into his vision as a motley collection of battered looking vehicles. He had barely had time to visually acquire the target before a plume of grey earth and smoke jetted up from the ground a little in front of them.

"Up two hundred, over!"

"Up two hundred out!"

Gill winced, "That's going to cost someone a heavy round in the Mess!"

"A heavy round?" Harm queried.

"Yes, that was a bloody bad opening call. It was OK for line, but distance was way out! A two hundred metre error was acceptable back in the eighties, but now OPs have portable laser range finders and all sorts of electronic gizmos, there really is no excuse for the adjusting round to be so far off target!"

"That still doesn't explain the heavy round!" Harm complained.

"Oh, sorry. That's me taking it for granted you know what all our little peculiarities are! The OP officer will be spoken to by his BC and CO, of that you can be certain, but the other officers will all claim a drink off him in the mess for being such an idiot!"

"And how many officers would that be?" Harm asked.

"Somewhere in the region of thirty, depending on who is in the Mess bar when he next walks in there," Gill grinned, but if she was going to say more she was cut off by the CP's signaller.

"One, shot one, three six, over!"

"One, shot one, three six, out!"

Once again Gill checked her watch until at thirty seconds, she snapped, "Now!" and raised her glasses to her eyes.

Harm swiftly followed suit, and knowing now where exactly to look he focused on the distant vehicles and soon saw the explosion, or 'splash' of the shell as it landed. Almost immediately the OP's voice cracked in his ear.

"Five rounds fire for effect, Intense, over!"

"Five rounds fire for effect, Intense, out!"

Gill nodded in confirmation, "Yep, that was a target round, so over the next minute, six guns – that is one battery – will fire five rounds of ammunition each."

"Over a minute?" Harm asked.

"Well just under, the intense rate of fire for an AS Ninety is six rounds a minute, and that was what was called for.

"You have variable rates?"

Yep, three rates of fire; burst and sustained are the other two. Intense rate falls between the two, and can only be kept up for three minutes. Burst rate is three rounds in ten seconds, but obviously that rate can't be kept up, it's too wearing on the detachments, the shells weigh ninety six pounds each, and too wearing on the gun barrels. Sustained rates are two rounds every minute, and can be maintained, or sustained, I should say for an hour. Heads up!"

Both officers whipped their glasses to their eyes just as the first splash hit right in the centre of the target vehicles. Within seconds five more explosions evinced the arrival of the rest of the first salvo, and hardly had the dust started to settle when the second salvo arrived. And so it continued for just under a minute as the vehicles were shrouded in smoke and dust through which Harm was certain he saw the occasional orange flash as a shell exploded, and although he was three kilometres distant from the target, he was almost prepared to swear he could feel the ground vibrate beneath his booted feet.

"Two one, end of mission! Enemy retreating, estimate one two vehicles burning, over!"

"One, end of mission! Enemy retreating, estimate one two vehicles burning, out!

"So, is it a fudged BDA?" Gill asked with a smile.

"No, no it's not!" Harm agreed having counted twelve burning vehicles in the impact area, "But what would have happened, if a live enemy had continued to advance?"

"The OP would have adjusted the target information and repeated the mission," Gill told him, and then couldn't resist a little dig, "That's one of the advantages of artillery over air strikes. All our fire is observed fire, and if need be we can call an immediate repeat, whereas once the fly-boys have dropped their bombs they're pretty much helpless to do anything else if the bad guys keep on a-coming!" she finished cheerfully.

Harm winced, not so much as the judgement Gill had made, but at her unwitting use of Mac's old nickname for him.

Gill saw the fleeting cloud that passed over his face, and realised that somewhere along the line she had made a gaffe, and in an effort to divert him, she suggested, "Why don't you take the map, and plot the next grid reference?"

Recognising, and grateful for, her attempt to divert his attention, Harm nodded, "Yeah, it will at least grant me the delusion that I'm doing something useful!"

Gill blushed, "Oh, I'm sorry, sir... I didn't mean to sound patronising... I mean, I know you must have made useful contributions in the past and... and..."

Harm shook his head, "Don't worry about it Captain. I'm the first to admit, or even confess, that this is your turf, and I am a total fish out of water."

"No... it's just that I meant that artillery do have that advantage, but only when we can observe fire, but there are times and places, where that's not possible. The MLRS has a range of ninety kilometres. Well, the Gunners would be highly unlikely to have OPs that deep behind enemy lines, and we would have to rely on aerial recce to be able to target anything that deep in in enemy territory."

"Not just trying to salvage my wounded pride there, are we Captain?" Harm asked with a grin.

"No, of course not, sir!" Gill hotly denied the accusation, but then looked at him shrewdly for a moment or two before she added, "And if I were to be so insubordinate to mention it, I would have to say that you aren't exhibiting any signs of wounded pride, but rather a distinct inclination to wind me up!"

"Ah, well," Harm grinned even more broadly, "You know what they say, pay-back's a... uh... pay-back is hell!"

That was one Americanism that had safely made the journey across the pond, so Gill wasn't left entirely disarmed. "Ah... ain't that bitch!" she sighed mournfully.

Harm shot her a startled glance and saw the mischief in her eyes and couldn't help joining in her laughter as she started to chuckle.

"Touché," he conceded and then, "Truce?"

"Pax!" she agreed.

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident to mar their amity, Harm proved to be a quick student, although unfamiliar with the metric scale maps used by ground forces, and his ear, already used to radio communication quickly became attuned to the voices of the British soldiers to whom he was listening, although the intricacies of artillery fire orders still remained pretty much a mystery to him.

Throughout the afternoon Gill had been monitoring the progress of each serial on the Exercise Pink, until at nearly sixteen thirty hours she noted that the next mission was to be a repeat performance by the MLRS Battery, but this time they would be using rockets armed with multiple sub-munitions. Knowing of Walker's fascination with this weapon system, she doffed her headset and hurried around the front of the vehicle to remind him that the MLRS fire mission was about to take place.

However, as soon as she rounded the the front of the Landrover, she stopped, took a step back and bit on her knuckles.

Harm saw her strange, to him, reaction, and said "Everything alright, Captain?"

"Oh yes, sir!" Gill said fighting a fit of the giggles, "But come and have a look, but quietly!"

Harm stepped across to join Gill and looked where she was indicating. A broad grin creased his face until he saw the open water bottle on the ground between the Bombardier and the Petty officer.

Julia had fallen asleep and had slid sideways until her head was resting against Johnny's shoulder, and he too had dozed off and his head had drooped sideways so that his cheek was resting on the top of Julia's head.

"They're not drunk, are they?" Harm demanded ominously.

"I very much doubt it, sir!" Gill shot at him with a dismayed look. The picture that the two NCOs formed was so funny and so innocent that Gill hadn't thought that the American officer could take exception to it. She stole forward a couple of steps and silently retrieved the bottle and lifting it to her nose, she inhaled and promptly screwed her nose up in disgust.

"Oh, God, that's awful! Here,sir, take a whiff of that!"

With a face like a thundercloud, Harm took the offered bottle and took a deep sniff of its contents. The scowl left his face to be replaced with a bemused expression, "It... it... it smells... like coffee!"

"Yes," Gill grinned, "Bombardier Walker's absolutely undrinkable special brew coffee!" then she took a step forward again and bent down to shake her NCO's shoulder, "Wakey, wakey, Bom!" she said cheerfully.

Johnny shot awake on the instant. "Uh.. ma'am! Sorry, ma'am. I must have dozed off. No excuse ma'am!"

The urgency in Johnny's voice got through to Julia and she too awoke, only to blush crimson as she realised where her head was resting. She scrambled to her feet, "Sir! Sorry sir! It won't..."

"Happen again?" Harm asked resignedly, "Have you been talking to Legalman One Coates again?"

"Sir?" an obviously confused Petty officer asked.

"Oh, never mind," Harm sighed, "How are you feeling now?"

"Uh... much better, thank you,sir!" Julia replied, now having collected sufficient wits to stand at attention in a rigid brace.

"Stand easy, at ease!" Harm told her, "You're not in trouble. In fact I almost wish I'd had enough wits to take a siesta too!" He winked at Gill with the eye that was hidden from Julia as he turned his head.

"Anyway, we woke you up," Gill contributed, "because the powers that be have arranged a special treat or you this afternoon, Bom. Next serial up is a sub-munition shoot by the MLRS battery!"

"Right ma'am!" Johnny grinned, "Jul... uh... Petty Officer, you really do not want to miss this!"

Julia nodded numbly and followed him around to the front of the vehicle, leaving a grinning Gill and a bemused Harm staring after them.

"How old is he?" Harm asked Gill.

"Well, his Q and R card says he's a couple of years short of thirty, but given his current behaviour, I'd say he was about twelve, and it's coming up to his birthday!" She responded with a laugh.

"You may not be far off the mark there!" Harm agreed.

The two smiling officers walked around to the front of the vehicle to find that Walker had perched Martinez, or had persuaded her to perch, on the spare wheel that occupied most the Landrover's bonnet, while he was turned sideways to it scanning the skies to the south.

"Ah! Here they come!" he said with immense satisfaction. The other three turned their heads to watch a swiftly rushing curtain of smoke trails, brilliantly white against the blue sky, arch overhead and just before they hit the ground explode into balls of smoke, and then almost instantaneously the ground beneath them erupted in a mass of small explosions.

This time Harm could definitely feel the ground vibrate below his feet, and he grinned at Walker's sigh of satisfaction, "Damn, I just love seeing those little beauties in action!" he said with a happy grin on his face.

"Very effective," Harm agreed as he used his binoculars to examine what was left of the targets on the impact area, "but those smoke trails are a hell of a signature."

"They are," Gill agreed, that's why they always employ shoot and scoot tactics, like this morning, if you'll recall. They were in action, acquired and engaged their target and were out of action in what, just over ninety seconds, Bom?"

"Just about, ma'am, just about!" Johnny agreed happily.

"And, that was End-ex, I just heard being broadcast," Gill said nodding to one of the headsets, so it looks like we're coming out of action too."

Johnny nodded, "The School Officers' Mess, ma'am?"

"Yes please, Bom!"

As they began to mount, Harm stopped his Yeoman from climbing into the rear of the Landrover. "You'll sit up front Martinez, I don't want you getting sick again!"

"But, sir..." she began to protest.

"No arguments Yeoman, that's an order!" he cut her off.

With no alternatives open Julia could only submit to his authority, "Aye, aye, sir!" Julia said and turned towards the cab of the vehicle.

Gill looked at Harm and grinned, but in answer to his challenging "What?" she just kept grinning and shook her head.