"I'll go," the Frenchman said. "Three should be enough. Give us a good smoke screen."
Rashid snapped orders. He put the German inspector in charge of Umluana. Read, the Frenchman and himself, he stationed at thirty-foot intervals along the floor.
"Remember," Rashid said. "We have to knock out that gun."
Read had given away his machine gun. He held a gas-filled bottle in each hand. His automatic nestled in its shoulder holster.
Rashid whistled.
Dozens of smoke grenades tumbled through the air. Thick mist engulfed the tank. Read stood up and ran forward. He crouched but didn't zigzag. Speed counted most here.
Gunfire shook the hill. The Belderkans couldn't see them but they knew what was going on and they fired systematically into the smoke.
Bullets ploughed the ground beside him. He raised his head and found the dim silhouette of the tank. He tried not to think about bullets ploughing through his flesh.
A bullet slammed into his hip. He fell on his back, screaming. "Sarge. Sarge."