Bombard Gun's First Showing

"Sheng Lan, does the escort convoy have any chassis fitted with anti-armor fire-control systems?"

By the time Sheng Lan rushed out of the communications vehicle, the outlines of the two Baku on the right flank had already come within visual range.

Dawn surged up from the eastern side of the desert, casting a bronze-yellow sheen across the Baku's dark green armor. Sand thrown up by their four-legged sprint curled into two low walls, bearing down on the supply convoy's parking area.

"All logistics personnel, do not move!"

Sheng Lan's voice passed through the gaps between the vehicles. The wind thinned it across the sand, but it remained clear enough.

"Don't run outside the vehicles! Stay where you are and don't obstruct the firing lanes!"

She ran to the third supply truck. Mounted behind its cab was a standard East Asian Army remote-controlled anti-armor fire-control platform, thirty-millimeter caliber, originally meant for dealing with light armored vehicles. It was nowhere near enough for a Baku's main armor, but that was not where she intended to shoot.

"Director, Supply Truck Two has a light fire-control unit. Seventy-two rounds, effective range eighteen hundred meters."

Lin Yuan's voice came through her earpiece.

"Target the joint connections. It's fast, but the exposed area of a four-legged transmission system is larger than a bipedal one. You don't need to penetrate it. Just disable one of its legs."

Sheng Lan climbed onto the truck's side panel and flipped open the fire-control platform's lock. The control grips were icy and bit into her hands. She had no experience with optical sights, but the platform had a basic infrared tracking function.

On the infrared display, the two Baku were closing their spacing fourteen hundred meters away, preparing to pour into the convoy's parking zone from the right flank.

"Han Zheng!" Sheng Lan shouted into the comms key. The tremor in her voice was buried beneath the wind and engine noise. "I'll hold the right flank. Deal with the narrow passage on the left first."

Han Zheng did not turn around.

The two Baku at the left-side bottleneck had already charged into the passage. The rhythm of their four feet striking the ground became a continuous metallic pounding in the narrow passage's echo, like someone hammering a drumhead with an iron mallet.

Jiachen's ballistic correction data scrolled rapidly across the screen.

Han Zheng did not look at the correction values.

He watched the width of the space between the stone walls of the bottleneck. Forty-two meters—enough for two Baku to squeeze through side by side. But when their four-legged frames passed through the bottleneck in parallel, they had to shorten their strides, creating a zero-point-three-second deceleration window.

At that same instant, Jiachen delivered a voice prompt.

Firing window: 0.34 seconds. Recommended ballistic deflection adjustment: 2.1 degrees.

Han Zheng followed the instruction.

The muzzle made a slight adjustment, and he squeezed the trigger all the way down.

The Bombard Round left the barrel.

Its rocket-assisted exhaust drew an orange-red line through the desert dawn. Four-tenths of a second later, the round struck the base of the right front leg of the Baku on the right side of the bottleneck.

The internal blast chamber detonated.

The sound was muffled, nothing like the sharp crack of an artillery shell exploding. It was more like the low, heavy sound of a giant hand crushing sheet metal from within. The Bombard Round's armor-piercing warhead first penetrated the transmission structure's casing, then the directional shaped-charge chamber released an overpressure pulse inside the armor, tearing apart the joint's hydraulic lines and drive gear assembly from the inside out.

The Baku's right front leg abruptly lost support in mid-run.

Its seventeen-ton body rolled violently through the bottleneck at a hundred and fifty kilometers per hour. Flying debris struck the stone walls and burst into sparks. Its body swept across half the passage, perfectly blocking the charge route of the Baku behind it.

The second Baku braked hard. Its four-legged stance skewed ten degrees as it gripped the ground, nearly crashing into its overturned companion.

Han Zheng did not stop.

The second Bombard Round left the barrel, aimed not at the machine, but at the weathered rock wall above the bottleneck. The warhead embedded itself two meters deep into the rock layer before detonating. Rubble and sand poured down, forming a temporary mound across the passage.

The second Baku was forced to retreat. Its four legs scrabbled over the pile of rocks a few times before it backed out of the bottleneck.

"Left flank clear." Han Zheng's breathing was one beat heavier than usual. "Two rounds. One disabled, one forced back."

Tian Mu let out a shout of approval inside Unit Two. His voice came through the cockpit's sealed layers, muffled and distorted.

But the situation on the right flank was not so easy.

Sheng Lan opened fire on the leading Baku with her thirty-millimeter fire-control unit. Twelve rounds in a burst; their tracer paths drew a string of broken bright dots through the dawn. Three struck the joint casing of the Baku's left rear leg, leaving white scuff marks across the dark green armor, but none penetrated.

The Baku did not even slow down.

It adjusted its heading by five degrees, moving around the centerline of the fire-control platform's firing arc, then continued charging toward the supply convoy.

"Director, thirty millimeters can't penetrate a Baku's joints." Sheng Lan kept her voice low, sweat gathering beneath the fingers clenched around the control grips.

Lin Yuan's reply was only three words.

"Han Zheng, turn."

Han Zheng was already turning. Black Iron Unit One's body rotated across the sand, its Ceramic Steel armor flinging up a curtain of sand with its momentum. Its right foot sank thirty centimeters into the sand. The turn was nearly twice as slow as it would have been on solid ground, and the resistance of the sand made the joint actuators emit a shrill overload whine.

He was a beat too late.

The leading Baku on the right flank had already reached a point eight hundred meters from the outer edge of the supply convoy.

Jiachen's voice sounded in his earpiece, completely devoid of emotion.

Target speed: 172 kilometers per hour. Estimated arrival at supply convoy: 17 seconds. Recommended firing lead: horizontal deflection 7.3 degrees, elevation minus 2.1 degrees. Wind correction: 0.4 degrees.

Han Zheng's muzzle caught up to the Baku's arc of movement.

Seven-point-three degrees.

He pulled the trigger.

The Bombard Round flew for six-tenths of a second. During that time, the Baku covered nearly twenty-nine meters. The warhead did not hit a joint, but the armored thigh section of its right rear leg.

The armor-piercing warhead punched through a weak point in the Baku's leg armor, and the internal blast chamber detonated beside the driveshaft casing.

It did not penetrate the driveshaft, but the overpressure pulse crushed the casing out of shape and jammed the transmission gears.

The Baku's right rear leg locked in the middle of its high-speed charge, and the entire machine's balance collapsed in an instant. Its seventeen-ton body plunged into the sand with a residual speed of a hundred and fifty kilometers per hour, rolling three and a half times. A wave of sand surged ten meters high, while fragments and torn armor plates arced through the air.

It finally came to rest three hundred and fifty meters from the outer edge of the supply convoy. Two of its four legs were still twitching as they clawed at the sand, and half of the optical lens in its head sensor had shattered.

After witnessing its companion roll over, the second Baku made a sharp turn and disengaged. Its four feet gouged four deep trenches into the sand as it retreated toward the southern dune line.

Han Zheng returned the muzzle to standby position. His breathing slowed from ragged gasps into deep, measured breaths. Cold air flowed across the sweat-soaked fabric on the back of his pilot suit, making it cling to his skin.

"Deputy Officer Sheng, right flank secure. One disabled, one retreated."

Sheng Lan jumped down from the truck's side panel, her boots sinking halfway into the sand. She walked to the communications vehicle and pulled open its door. Ye Qingluan's face was lit a sickly pale by the terminal screen.

"Team Leader Ye, has there been any change in Waltfeld's communications?"

Ye Qingluan removed her headset, her gaze darker than before.

"Yes. He just sent an unencrypted short message to the rear."

"The contents?"

Ye Qingluan pushed the intercepted translation toward Sheng Lan.

A single line was displayed on the screen.

East Asia's iron lumps are tougher than expected. I'll take a look myself.

Sheng Lan shut the communications vehicle's door and activated the encrypted channel.

"Director, Waltfeld is coming out personally."

Lin Yuan was silent for only two seconds.

"Good. Let him come."

On Han Zheng's panoramic display, a fresh column of dust rose from behind the southern dune line.

A paint scheme marked with dark red stripes cut through the sand curtain. Its four-legged landing rhythm was steadier than that of any ordinary Baku.

The Desert Tiger's custom unit accelerated straight toward the Black Iron Squad's position.