On this particular morning, Pat slumps over the tank hatch to the turret of the M1 Abrams, 6 (or 8 after economy inflation) million dollars worth of metal and destruction. He is supposed to keep watch for any suspicious targets, and he is doing so with a scale model of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, a toy he'd brought along which reminded him of his son's birthday a mere two days from his return.
"Come on now, Pat. If you miss something out because of a toy and we all get blown to heaven, I'm not gonna blame the dinosaur, I'm gonna blame the kid playing with it!" A fellow trooper boomed from inside the tank. Pat wasn't paying any attention though, he seems transfixed on the toy and all the memories that came with it. Warnings were put around the tank to ward people away from a 100- metre radius of the tank so he wasn't really worried.
Unless of course, they wanted 50 calibers worth of shrapnel lodged into them. A poke at his feet from the barrel of a rifle jolts him from his trance.
"Pat! Target 12 o'clock, civilian on your six!"
Pat craned his head back. So it was. He puts the toy down and waves his hand away, signalling for the civilian to move away, but to no avail. Pat sighs and reluctantly gets out and drops neatly beside the tank. Wielding his assault rifle, he too walks toward the civilian, a little girl, still motioning for her to go.
"You have two minutes, or we will open fire," the voice crackled from his radio. He could already hear the mechanical whirr as the tank took aim.
Soon the little kid was looking up at the heavily armed Pat. The stolid man crouched and again, motioned for the girl to go, mouthing the words, "go". The girl had tears in her eyes and didn't acknowledge the hand motions.
Soon though, Pat realises why. The nondescript vest she was wearing had wires running throughout it and a red light seemed to emanate from it.
And it was blinking.
"Come on now, Pat. If you miss something out because of a toy and we all get blown to heaven, I'm not gonna blame the dinosaur, I'm gonna blame the kid playing with it!" A fellow trooper boomed from inside the tank. Pat wasn't paying any attention though, he seems transfixed on the toy and all the memories that came with it. Warnings were put around the tank to ward people away from a 100- metre radius of the tank so he wasn't really worried.
Unless of course, they wanted 50 calibers worth of shrapnel lodged into them. A poke at his feet from the barrel of a rifle jolts him from his trance.
"Pat! Target 12 o'clock, civilian on your six!"
Pat craned his head back. So it was. He puts the toy down and waves his hand away, signalling for the civilian to move away, but to no avail. Pat sighs and reluctantly gets out and drops neatly beside the tank. Wielding his assault rifle, he too walks toward the civilian, a little girl, still motioning for her to go.
"You have two minutes, or we will open fire," the voice crackled from his radio. He could already hear the mechanical whirr as the tank took aim.
Soon the little kid was looking up at the heavily armed Pat. The stolid man crouched and again, motioned for the girl to go, mouthing the words, "go". The girl had tears in her eyes and didn't acknowledge the hand motions.
Soon though, Pat realises why. The nondescript vest she was wearing had wires running throughout it and a red light seemed to emanate from it.
And it was blinking.
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