The word wasn’t out of Medway’s mouth before his gunner was announcing, “ON THE WAAAAAAY!”, as he pulled the trigger.

Inside the tank there was very little noise. There was a muffled “Boom” and a gentle rocking back as the 120mm main gun began its recoil. Quickly, the smell of acrid smoke entered the turret as wisps of burnt propellant spilled from the gun’s open breach.

Even before this came to an end, the round they had fired found its mark. With no dust kicked up by the blast, the image of the Guard tank was visible to Medway as soon as his tank settled back down on its tracks. In his thermal sight the operations officer saw a shimmering glow obscuring part of the Guard tank’s turret. It looked as if a blob of something very hot had been smeared on the target. Still, except for the weird mark, the Guard tank looked pretty much as it did before. Quickly Medway decided to put a second round into it, just to be sure. “TARGET! Reengage!”

Again the other two members of his turret crew came back with “Identified!” and “UP!” And again, Medway gave the order. “FIRE!”

As before, the crew experienced something more like a nudge rather than a violent jerk as the main gun launched the next round. And again, Medway brought his eye back to his sight to see what the collective efforts of his crew and their tank had accomplished.

This time, there was no mistaking the effectiveness of their efforts. Sheets of flame shot up from the Guard tank while bits of the turret, most probably blow-off panels, twirled about like leaves in a stiff fall breeze. They had fatally crippled the opposing tank. “TARGET. CEASE FIRE!”

Medway continued to stare at the stricken Guard tank for several seconds. He felt no joy at what he had done. Rather than exhilaration, the only sensation the major experienced was one of stunned silence. In his own mind, he couldn’t articulate his feelings. There was no way of quantifying them. All he knew was that there was something wrong. Pulling back away from the sight, he looked about the turret. Both his gunner and his loader were staring at him. The expressions they wore told him they, too, felt as he did. “Okay, crew,” he finally said without ceremony, “let’s get moving. Driver, move out.”

As the tank lurched forward and picked up speed, Medway thrust his head out of the hot, humid confines of the turret. “God,” he called out as he looked up into the night sky, “please don’t make me go through that again.”

BENNETT AIRFIELD, DIXIE, IDAHO 0330, NOVEMBER 11

With the last of the camouflage netting pulled clear and their preflight checks finished; Warrant Officer Keith Peters prepared himself. Together with First Lieutenant Bill Sarson, and the AH-64 that they crewed, Peters et al. made up exactly fifty percent of Idaho’s remaining air power.