"Shit," muttered Blade under his breath as Myrina's report came in. Tanks, even with manually-guided weapons were bad news. Even their heavy machine-guns would make a mess of a GEAR, not to mention the cannon they carried. And getting through their armour would be tough. 
Fortunately, they had Ken around, and Blade dropped his las-des onto the lead tank, punching the target through the the chopper pilot as a priority. 
"Hit the tanks, Ken," he said quietly and urgently. "Priority target. Everyone else in my team - pincer the armour. Kradis: Once Ken's made his run, follow it up with bombardment on the next target. I'll keep the designator on, and slide to the next target. I'll keep the bombardment rolling with mortar fire as we close range. Aim for tracks and sensors; and for their MG's. Mobility kill them and then try to close in to close range and pick 'em off. I'll hit from the rear with my ATGMs. Move quickly, hit hard".
The brief was concise and clipped, betraying the urgency of the situation, and the [i]Harlock[/i] left rooster-tails of dust in its' wake as it shot off, leaning hard into its' zig-zagging course, sticking to rock walls and foliage for cover, as the tanks' turrets swung close. A round exploded close by the GEAR, and the damage readout illuminated red on the machines' left side. A drop in hydraulic pressure and muscle-fiber conductivity simulated damage, and a burst of simulated - and paint- machine-gun fire grazed the GEAR, knocking out a number of surface sensors and minor equipment - a broken searchlight, speaker and equipment hooks were nothing to be concerned about. Armour breaches, though, might be another matter. 
Either way, the laser-designator was still on target, and he'd closed range well. The mortar coughed out the last of its' AP rounds, dropping them squarely on top of the rear-most tank, the laser switching immediately to the one on the far-right of the V-Shaped formation, keeping it highlighted for Kradis artillery, even as the vulpine moved and launched the last pair of the AT-missiles, which blasted clear on white trails of vapour, speeding away, before top-attacking; at least on the sim. One flew true, the second sim-defeated by the counter-missile defences of the tank. One target winked out, and the second registered as a mobility kill from the mortars, but was putting up a furious defence with everything at its' disposal. 
"One down," the fox said urgently. "Two to go. One mobility kill."