[hr][color=white][sup][h1]
[center][url=https://i.imgur.com/1PEQlS3.png][img]https://c4.wallpaperflare.com/wallpaper/958/966/512/argentina-country-argentina-flag-abstract-other-hd-art-wallpaper-thumb.jpg[/img][/url][/center]
[b][center]THE REPUBLIC OF ARGENTINA[/center][/b][/h1][/sup][/color]
[hr]

[b]Tales from the Front: Part I[/b]

Lieutenant Fernando Niembro lay on a salvaged mattress, cushioned on all sides by sandbags that were stacked three feet beneath the largely intact roof of an old stone barn. The building itself was nothing special but the view it commanded of the Chilean town of Osorno was nothing short of spectacular. The spires of Cathedral San Mateo soared above the town, magnificent in their beauty. The vaulted ceiling that has once housed Gods faithful was little more than a shall now, largely blown into oblivion thanks to Neimbros own efforts.

Several slats in the barn roof had been propped up on sticks to allow a view of the valley without leaving an obvious hole to be spotted by the enemy. Through this slim gap he could sweep the town with binoculars, watching for movement and hoping to find none. The roll of a forward observation officer - a FOO - was largely one of sitting and waiting. It had also proved to be the single most important role thus far in the campaign since low lying cloud cover had rendered Argentine air power impotent. 

He suppressed the feeling that he'd been conned into into his current situation by the bomb-happy Major who had come by earlier lamenting the lack of boom boom. The conversation was still wheeling about in his head when he saw movement, a quick blur of grey steel between buildings. A tank? He focused his gaze and waited, breathing slowly, the same way a sniper might before taking a shot.

Yes! There it was again! An armoured car? Two! And a tank! His pulse had begun to race and he stifled the urge to giggle - it was an unnatural feeling - and instead glanced down at the map lying in front of him, establishing as quickly as possible the map reference of the tank, which was relatively easy, it being on the side of the hill in direct line with the road that bends right just before reaching it. He called over the wall to Menem, now jammed in a very small trench with the remote control he'd managed to drag over here, "Able Troop targetmap reference 985638 - right ranging - fire!" 

All he wanted was to see was one round. If it landed anywhere close to that damned tank, he'd go into "fire for effect" - maybe five rounds gunfire - enough to satisfY command that he'd shelled the stupid thing. He didn't have to wait more than a minute or so, it seemed interminable out there on the road. Estimating the range from gun to target at about 4,200 yards, he figured the shell would take about eight seconds to come up from the gun when it did fire. And when at last he heard Menem calling out the message he's received from the guns, it sounded like: "Shot - four thousand." Meaning, of course, the range at which the shot was fired.

He started counting to himself, "Hippopotamus one, hippopotamus two, hippopotamus three ... " Before he reached seven, there was a sizzling overhead, and before he could get he glasses up, wham, there it was, an orange flash in the middle of a violent puff of rolling smoke very close to the tank. He slapped his hand down in excitement and shouted to Menem, "Five rounds gunfire - fire!" 

He heard the guns begin to thump; watching the shells land was something else, and the only way watch them was to quickly swing down to ground level and stand on the road. He went down on one knee and got the tank in his glasses just in time to see the shells bursting all around it. No correction was needed - in fact he could almost imagine a couple of rounds hit it. Not that that would make any difference to the men inside if the hits were direct or not - they would be getting bounced around badly enough to injure or kill them all. Satisfied, he darted back back into the barn and joined Menem in his cramped trench.

When, after a minute, the firing stopped, he immediately give the order "Repeat!" as though the target really meant something. A head poked up from a hole nearby and asked, "Are those ours?" When Neimbros assure the infantryman that they were, the man yelled, "Give 'em hell, lieutenant!" This seemed to arouse other soldiers, and by the time the second bombardment is completed, a cheer sounds along the ridge. With a start, Neimbros realized that these were the first Argentine shells these guys had ever heard being fired, maybe ever. They were only recently arrived on the line and it had been a quiet couple of days.

As the last rumbling explosion reverberated around the valley, he leapt up from the bottom of the trench and scurried back up the ladder into his "nest". It took him a moment to find the tank again as dust and debris continued to obscure the area for a long moment. Ah, there it was! It had been blown completely onto its side, both tracks had been torn to pieces, and he was certain he could make out the shape of an armoured car crumpled in the dust beyond it. He was so pleased with himself that he almost missed in the shout from outside.

"Incoming!"

He didn't even paused as he turned and dove off his perch toward the ground. He hit the ground with a thud, rolling heavily on his shoulder, wasting not a second more as he hurled himself into the trench. Menem broke his fall with nothing more than a grunt as the first Chilean shells plowed into the hillside. They fell wide of the barn and he gritted hit teeth. He had been trying to locate this particular battery for the last three weeks. It was now or never.

"I've got to spot them!" He shouted over the thundering explosions outside. Not waiting for a reply, he slithered out of the trench to the base of the ladder that suddenly looked extremely tall. He took several quick breaths and then scrambled up the wooden rungs as quickly as he could and burrowed into his hideout. He smashed the roof shingles clear now, sending them cascading into the yard below, and frantically scanned the landscape for the enemy guns. Nothing but silence. He swore. If they didn't fire again he would have no idea where to look.

Thud! Thud! Thud-Thud-Thud! 

There they were! Four of them! Firing from a hundred yards to the rear of an old elementary school, carefully camouflaged as just another collection of cheap shanties. 

"Incoming!" He roared the words out, made a rough guess on his map where the guns were firing from, and then hurtled toward his ladder once again. The first shell hit forty yards away and the concussion rocked the barn. The floor beneath him buckled and in an instant he was free falling. He hit the ground hard and felt the wind driven out of him even as dust filled his mouth and nose. He couldn't breath, he couldn't cough. He groped in the darkness toward the trench and, to his everlasting relief, he felt Menem grab his wrist and heave him to the relative safety of the communications pit. 

"All batteries..." He was gasping what little air he could get now, yelling in Menems ear. "All batteries - targetmap refernce 985651 - five rounds - repeat - fire!" 

He could heard Menem screaming the words into the radio as the ground around them continued to shake and rattle. He wrapped his arms around his head and tucked them between his knees and waited for the Chilean rounds to cease. When they did, as it always happened, a strange silence descended over the scene. His ears were ringing but he couldn't hear any screams and the barn was still standing. He staggered into the open air again and sucked in grateful lungfuls as he observed the hillside. The Chilean shells had fallen sporadically across the area, a sign of inexperience, and for that he was thankful.

He jumped at the sound of a distant explosion and turned swiftly to see dust and smoke rising from the area around the back of the elementary school. His ears were still ringing so badly he hadn't heard his own shells go over. The crescendo continued and it occurred to him that he had ordered - repeat - meaning the guns would continue firing until they were ordered to stop. For a long moment he stood and watched the savage violence that tossed pieces of building and vegetation high into the sky. 

"Cease fire!" He shouted back toward Menem who was still faithfully sitting by his radio. The call took a moment to make and another twenty shells or so thundered overhead to add their explosions to the din. He quickly took up his glasses and scanned the location. There wasn't much to see at this range but he could make out at least one gun barrel pointed skyward. He waited one minute, then two. Nothing. The battery had been silenced. 

"Well done Menem!" He grinned as he hurried over to the trench. The Sergeant offered a dust covered smile and nodded, radio still held to the side of his head.

"Eh, no problem boss, that's what I am here for. Though, I wouldn't mind moving our spot. I suspect the enemy might demolish this barn the next chance they get."

"Yea, good idea. Get the half-track up here and let's find a new home."