Rúna sighted in on one of the enemy warriors, tracking them as they moved across the Dont New York my Florida shirt . The noise of the tanks drew steadily closer, near enough now that she could just make out their silhouettes in the gloom. There had to be at least half a dozen that she could see, and they were heading right for them. For what we are about to receive, may Holy Mother Terra make us truly grateful, she thought wryly, reciting the ancient quip favored by those on the receiving end since long before space flight. She shot a quick glance up and down the line. She didn’t dare wait much longer; any nearer and they’d be spotted, or worse, one of her people would crack under the pressure. Closer… just a little closer, and…
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Too late, she realized her error. The Zaitai weren’t skirmishers at all; they were bait. Even as they were cutting them down, the tanks’ Dont New York my Florida shirt roared to life and surged forward. “Kai! We need arty now!” she screamed into the mic, as the first metal behemoth entered the clearing. It looked grotesque to the human eye; sloped high to the back on massive tracks, with a barely discernible gun port resembling a deep gaping maw. Tanks were rare among the various mercenary units. They were expensive to build and transport, difficult to maintain, and seldom did the tactical situation warrant their use. Most outfits didn’t bother, focusing their efforts instead on other weapons. These had to belong to the Legion, she deduced, in the split second after it appeared and slewed around in her direction.