Hey anon. Let's get some tanks going, shall we?Archive here: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=TW89==1/2“You've got to be fucking joking me” you say, your eyes pressed to your binoculars. You've been at this for three weeks, and the Saudi tankers still can't hit shit. They've got damn near the same gun as you do, firing damn near the same round, at a target the same range away. You've given them seemingly un-ending classroom lessons via two translators. You've even given individual instruction with Nicky, pointing out the nuances of the M68 rifled cannon and how that translates to accuracy. They still miss armor sized targets at one thousand yards, your standard armor engagement range. Your other lessons, basic strategic things, fire and maneuver, combined arms, the like, had all gone well you think. It seems the officers took from those the lessons they'd need to wage a war. Well, all the lessons except for maybe how to be an officer and not an order-machine.“Their infantry was twice as bad, mate.” Major Thomas says, standing to your left, his own binoculars held idly at mouth level. “There was one cheeky fellow who claimed it was the rifle's fault, not his. Their targets were at one hundred bloody meters. I believe that's when my most junior enlisted man snatched his rifle out of the Saud's hands, and shot a target at four hundred meters. Standing. Magnificent bastard, him.”Next to him, Anderson shakes his head. “For fuck's sake. A hundred