Free Steel Gauntlet by David Sherman, Dan Cragg

“Attention on deck!” and everybody immediately stood at attention.
    “At ease,” Conorado said as he strode briskly from the back to the front of the classroom. The first sergeant, Top Myer, followed closely on his heels, glowering to the sides. Myer’s glowers didn’t mean anything in particular; it was his normal expression. The other officers arrayed themselves at the rear of the room, near where the platoon sergeants had already stationed themselves.
    Captain Conorado didn’t glower when he reached the front of the classroom and turned to face his men, but there was instant stillness when the Marines saw his expression. The company commander looked more serious than he usually did when he briefed his men on a mount out.
    “I know the scuttlebutt’s gotten around,” Conorado started. “You know we’re going up against main battle tanks. Right now the biggest problem we have is that none of you understands what a main battle tank is, what it can do, or how to kill one. Sure, you’ve all seen MBTs on historical vids—and I’ll bet none of you believe what you’ve seen in those vids. You’re right in not believing a lot of what you’ve seen; there’s a lot of exaggeration in vids. But there are things about MBTs that those vids just don’t tell you. That’s what you’re going to begin to learn today. Behind me, with Gunny Thatcher, are three Marines who will spend the next two weeks teaching you everything they can about what MBTs can do, what they can’t do, and how to kill them. You had best pay attention to them when they tell you something. If you don’t, you’re going to get yourself killed. And you’ll probably kill a lot of good Marines at the same time.”
    Conorado turned to look at Thatcher. “Gunny, take over.”
    Thatcher snapped to attention. “Aye aye, sir.” He waited until Conorado turned back toward the men, then bellowed, “Attention on deck!” He remained at attention until Conorado left the classroom. The first sergeant left with the company commander. The other officers stayed behind; they had things to learn as well.
    “As you were,” Gunny Thatcher said as soon as the captain and first sergeant were gone. He gave the Marines a moment to resume their seats before continuing. “We’ve got a lot to learn and a short time to learn it in. Sergeant Bojanowski”—he indicated one of the three Marines standing with him—“is a forward air observer from the composite squadron. He’s going to teach us how to call in air support.
    Corporal Henry”—he identified another of the strangers—“is a spotter from the artillery battery. He’s going to teach us how to call in the big guns. Some of you already know how to call in air or artillery, but nobody in this company has called in either in quite a while—calls for hopper medevac or guiding hoppers in to drop off supplies don’t count. So even if you already know how, think of this as a refresher course—or use your knowledge to help train the Marines who don’t know how to do it.
    “We’ll start with artillery. Corporal Henry, the floor is yours.” Thatcher and the other two Marines stepped aside and took seats in the front row. Everybody noticed that Thatcher hadn’t introduced the warrant officer, and nearly all of them wondered why not.
    “This,” Corporal Henry began, flicking on the trid he stood next to, “is the mainstay of Marine artillery, the towed 175mm M-147 howitzer.” In the trid’s field, an artillery piece rotated. A Marine stood next to the big gun for scale. Its main wheels came up to his shoulders. The muzzle of the gun, elevated about fifteen degrees, was nearly twice his height above the ground. Other than its size, it would have been immediately recognizable as an artillery piece to a late sixteenth century French cannoneer. “The M-147
    is called a ‘direct support’ weapon, but that’s because it directly supports one unit, not because it fires directly at its target. It has a