>>5584525The heavy tanks awkwardly maneuvered past houses and onto the road, any fire from them purely perfunctory as Lieutenant Wester's dragoons decimated the enemy in mere moments. As his platoon sped down the road, Kannenpflanze saw yet more Twaryian infantry moving up on either side and finally came face to face with the lone surviving BM-2.
"Let this one go. A waste of a 7.5 shell, that's all that one is."
What Kannenpflanze left unsaid on the platoon net was that he had serious doubts that his gunners could capitalize on the fleeting glimpse of the speedy vehicle and engage it effectively—with shoddy Twaryian guns and optics, no less. Still, there was something that the large-bore cannons of the T-15s could contribute.
"Lindner, Stoetten, get out your maps and listen up. I want flares going out to the following coordinates..."
After relaying the numbers to the other tanks and ordering Jahnke to prepare an illumination round, he all but tore off his gas mask and began stripping off the protective cloak. He cursed under his breath as he wiped the sweat off his forehead and readjusted his cap. Fighting in this manner was utterly unbecoming of a noble officer. He looked down the road, all the way to where it was swallowed by the darkness of the small forest ahead and felt a shiver pass through him. Without a doubt, either in the forest or beyond it, enemies—and powerful, deadly ones, at that—were lying in wait. He instinctively reached for the grip of his sword and, not finding it—wearing it wasn't terribly convenient inside a tank, after all—, gripped the edge of the cupola hard. If taking backtalk and being sweaty were unbecoming of a noble officer, showing fear in the face of an enemy was doubly—no, triply—so. A veritable mortal sin. He gave the order to advance down the road at full speed.
>removing chemical protection (inb4 I get gassed immediately)>spotting>initiative>firing flares at indicated locations (picrel)>Movement: 4xS 