What the fuck? One tank? What the hell was this? Some idiot with something to prove?
He turned to Sergeant Cullen beside him. "Cullen, do you see that tank?"
Cullen took the glasses and looked. He said, "Must be Spuller, Colonel."
Spuller? "In a Russian tank?"
"Look, Colonel," Cullen said, handing the glasses back. "Look at the front of the tank. What do you see?"
Heston squinted. Cullen's eyesight was a hell of a lot better than his, but he could just barely make out some kind of crude drawing in paint. "It's a horse--tied to a letter S."
"S-Puller. Spuller. Get it?"
"Christ, what a sense of humor that guy's got. So he must have got the device, then."
"Never mind, Sergeant. Need-to-know. Hey! What the hell's he doing?" The tank had swerved. It was heading toward the ravine, and the hastily-erected plank bridge spanning it. "That bridge won't hold a tank! Jesus, he's trying to kill himself!"
The rest of the troop had caught on that something was happening, and they arranged themselves on the sides of the hill, so they had a good view of the steppes below, and the progress of the tank.
They all watched as the tank sped up to the plank bridge, and onto it. They all waited with morbid impatience for the bridge to collapse.
It didn't. The tank kept going, seeming not to notice the frailty of the structure beneath it. Heston looked more closely at the base of the tank. Jesus, the treads aren't even making contact with the fucking bridge. So the thing really works. Not much chance of keeping it a secret now, though. He put his binoculars down and went back down the hill, pushing soldiers out of the way to be the first to greet Spuller when he emerged from the tank.
Based on the words: Rebus Plank Russia Armor
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The Den of Ubiquity/ Aaron V. Humphrey / email@example.com