Decon could see the impacts of artillery up ahead marking the location of the Guard tank platoon that his platoon was charged with attacking. The artillery would force those tankers to button up. Even after the artillery lifted and shifted, Decon hoped they would be more than a bit rattled. He knew he would be. With luck, the fifteen year veteran told himself the guns would kill one or two of them. Regardless of what the red legs did, it was the mission of his platoon to eliminate the tanks sitting astride one of the trails leading up onto the mesa, and clear the way for the 4th Armored Division.

Except for the squish of mud under boot, Decon’s platoon made their way through the gently falling rain in silence. Like the air assault troopers who followed him in loose squad clusters, Decon couldn’t totally close his mind to personal thoughts. At the moment he found himself debating whether it would have been better to have a second lieutenant platoon leader with him at a time like this or, as was the case, lead the platoon himself.

He was of two minds on the subject. In garrison an officer was handy. They took care of all the paperwork, went to the old man’s meetings, signed for the platoon’s equipment, and listened to the more lame excuses malingering soldiers concocted. In the field they were another matter. While it was true well-trained second lieutenants managed to hold their own and even helped by handling critical tasks like reporting and planning, a poor one reminded him of taking a rambunctious two-year-old into a crystal shop. Sometimes it was only the lieutenant’s own demise that saved the platoon from serious damage.

Up ahead the leader of the platoon’s point element signaled that he had the Guard tanks in sight. Gesturing for everyone to stay put, Decon made his way to where the men of the point element lay prone in the fresh mud. “Three tanks,” a buck sergeant whispered as he pointed them out. “Two there and one over behind that dirt berm.”

Technically there was a fourth M-1 on the position. But the weird angle of the gun tube and smoke curling up from the rear of the turret indicated that the 4th Division’s artillery had earned their pay for the night.

“Have you seen any sign of the crews?” Decon asked.

“Negatory,” the buck sergeant replied. “Not hide nor hair of ’em.”

“Okay,” Decon whispered. “I’m going back. I’ll send the squads up one at a time. Direct one squad to each of the remaining three tanks starting on the left. Join your squad when the last squad comes by.”