Return-path: Envelope-to: lojban@lojban.org Delivery-date: Thu, 14 Oct 2021 08:18:03 -0700 Received: from mail.appointmentauest.com ([193.124.7.65]:36416) by 36792b12ac38 with esmtp (Exim 4.94.2) (envelope-from ) id 1mb2UZ-000Gf0-47 for lojban@lojban.org; Thu, 14 Oct 2021 08:18:03 -0700 DKIM-Signature: v=1; a=rsa-sha1; c=relaxed/relaxed; s=dkim; d=appointmentauest.com; h=Date:From:To:Subject:MIME-Version:Content-Type:List-Unsubscribe:Message-ID; i=lamar.doyle@appointmentauest.com; bh=niyeIGr3toDzfMNveYdJTvuztig=; b=cFc/txv5K8bVuq7q/fUwFN3lWTP3UwZa6mBAcp+v1vQouObt4EVVhimVoWMcbWJv1NnoG3BIJSnJ QPLP+1wQpSFzG/ZROeGFDLRkhpE5ZDJMBIKoarnxCbUkoj7dlYG7jDLmxTkCGPVq6OJTUPcklcey jePvM1WSo+SKZ5zY0P8= DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; c=nofws; q=dns; s=dkim; d=appointmentauest.com; b=Nu69GKR26QEm4OMS0+yVPLetdm9vYfrCy6DZ840b962vExa7J326epNfCp9LfLxjFThPogIxuiTn 5WuK1gcO+7jRg6c1xmE/XDtaEvot3o3YEr/Q9yfzpSHNXerQTyQbLchC1wno12yYZCIqhmkSzG7b n9bPWcxS1RAVezbNyGQ=; Received: by mail.appointmentauest.com id hd15hu0001g6 for ; Thu, 14 Oct 2021 11:16:23 -0400 (envelope-from ) Date: Thu, 14 Oct 2021 11:16:23 -0400 From: "Lamar Doyle" To: Subject: Why The Internet Is Buzzing Over These Illusional Vortex Rugs MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="----=_Part_331_1815129799.1634224020873" List-Unsubscribe: Message-ID: <0.0.0.36.1D7C10E733FCE08.76D185@mail.appointmentauest.com> X-Spam-Score: 1.8 (+) X-Spam_score: 1.8 X-Spam_score_int: 18 X-Spam_bar: + X-Spam-Report: Spam detection software, running on the system "1c83b5ee42e7", has NOT identified this incoming email as spam. The original message has been attached to this so you can view it or label similar future email. If you have any questions, see @@CONTACT_ADDRESS@@ for details. Content preview: ** The All New Vortex Illusional 3D Rug ** Talk about attention grabbing! Get this optical illusion rug for the lowest price on the internet. The Vortex Rug is the perfect rug to put in your living room, bedroom, office, or any other floor spa [...] Content analysis details: (1.8 points, 5.0 required) pts rule name description ---- ---------------------- -------------------------------------------------- 0.0 URIBL_BLOCKED ADMINISTRATOR NOTICE: The query to URIBL was blocked. See http://wiki.apache.org/spamassassin/DnsBlocklists#dnsbl-block for more information. [URIs: appointmentauest.com] 1.9 URIBL_ABUSE_SURBL Contains an URL listed in the ABUSE SURBL blocklist [URIs: appointmentauest.com] -0.0 SPF_PASS SPF: sender matches SPF record 0.0 SPF_HELO_NONE SPF: HELO does not publish an SPF Record 0.0 HTML_MESSAGE BODY: HTML included in message 0.0 HTML_FONT_LOW_CONTRAST BODY: HTML font color similar or identical to background 0.0 MIME_QP_LONG_LINE RAW: Quoted-printable line longer than 76 chars -0.1 DKIM_VALID_EF Message has a valid DKIM or DK signature from envelope-from domain -0.1 DKIM_VALID_AU Message has a valid DKIM or DK signature from author's domain -0.1 DKIM_VALID Message has at least one valid DKIM or DK signature 0.1 DKIM_SIGNED Message has a DKIM or DK signature, not necessarily valid 0.0 T_REMOTE_IMAGE Message contains an external image ------=_Part_331_1815129799.1634224020873 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=utf-8 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit ** The All New Vortex Illusional 3D Rug ** Talk about attention grabbing! Get this optical illusion rug for the lowest price on the internet. The Vortex Rug is the perfect rug to put in your living room, bedroom, office, or any other floor space you want to make a statement. Put this hilarious and eye-catching rug in your living room, toy room, bedroom, office, or any other space in your home! It is guaranteed to be a great (and memorable) conversation starter. The 3D visual print will make it look like there is a plunging void in the middle of the floor! We make all of our rugs out of polyester fiber material and non-woven fabric, so it won't fade, shed, or scratch the floor. All of our rugs are washer-ready. NEW RELEASE- Take 64% Off Today With FREE Shipping! -> http://www.appointmentauest.com/cymbals-wandering/8286d2G3q95c8_6n11tk5d86Ka19X18VhscFDrfhscFDrEsvZ7gQGoRmn6Y1qCt05QBAsv Digital Traffic Group Applied Sciences 23 Russell St Branford CT 6405 3507 Select this http://www.appointmentauest.com/cymbals-wandering/be84U2395S8YO610Q5d87Wa19z18yhscFDrfhscFDrEsvZ7qQGoRmn7cty1WP05QPsv1 to end further communication. ------=_Part_331_1815129799.1634224020873 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable =20 =20 =20 =20 =20 = =20 =20 =20 =20 =20
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Fate. A word that truly depicts the o= dyssey of life. Life remains a journey of integrity that each breathing per= son strives through, day after monotonous day. Yet moments of joy can be fo= und even in the darkest of places, as long as one remembers to turn on the = light. Unfortunately that was not always as easy as counting to 10.<= /p>=20

 

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After stepping forth into the blindin= g daylight, one would expect the sign of a smile, though not for Franco, fo= r his day was declining into the realm of pure madness. Running wild, runni= ng free, such ideologies were not currently achievable for him; his few bri= ef moments of glee were snatched away in an instance by the cruel hands of = society. As he peered over the ever-apparent cliff-edge of his life, both m= entally and physically, a tear strolled down his paling cheek as he fell fo= rth over the edge, his mind in shambles and his body in agony.

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When your life is flashing before you= r eyes, most would expect the moments of bliss. All Franco saw as he accomp= anied the abyss was the negativity that forever imbedded the forsaken shred= of life that was his own. Thoughts of thousands fluttered like pigeons in = his mindscape, chaotic and wanting an escape. ?An escape', an escape from w= hat? His dispiriting escapade of mortality? His discouraging collapse into = madness throughout his 30s? Nonetheless, scarper was essential no matter th= e cause.

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After a presumed eternity of flailing= about in the gale, a supposed image of solid ground materialised beneath h= is frail skeleton. Thankfully enough, the ground was a familiar clear volum= e of aquamarine. Bedraggled with fear and salt water, Franco spat out the d= espair, as well as the solemn goldfish that had found its way past his cyan= lips. He suddenly pondered as to how his life was still in his hands, thou= gh instantly neglecting the confrontation of notions for he had not a secon= d to waste. 

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Peering in the assumed direction of N= orth, he acknowledged the fact that the environment around him was all supp= osedly full of luscious grass and herbs. Although he discouraged his vision= for his perception of reality had betrayed him countless times before. Unf= ortunately his suspicions were correct, for he watched as two solemn squirr= els sauntered past him in absolute union. A false sense of serenity lay res= t in the palms of his hands for the world was not what it seemed to be.

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He ambitiously stumbled around glanci= ng momentarily at the birds flying overhead. Tremendous trees of mahogany w= ere planted northbound; creating a canopy of corruption, for once again the= exact same squirrels ran past Franco. ?I'm not going crazy.? He now had up= most confirmation for the sake of his sanity for the shoddy design of this = presumed prison was evidently not up to standards. Henceforth escapade was = now a necessity.

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The first sign the failure in the cir= cuits, was truly the aura of solemnity he had experienced when arriving on = the hardened terra firma of the place. Life had never truly been at peace f= or Franco, not since the very day he arrived on this planet he currently re= sides upon. As he stumbled forth in the prison of both mentality and physic= ality, he noticed a peculiar sight, strictly west of his field of view. A s= olemn rowan tree lay unprovoked and isolated from all of the mahogany, perh= aps a sign from whoever was in charge of this stockade.

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Upon encroaching upon the cocoa roots= of the tree, he noticed an array of wires and cables spreading like a viru= s from the trunk. Since no further harm could be caused to his life, Franco= began tearing the wires from their sources and lacerating them as he went = along. Strangely no electrocution was in play, at least not to Franco, for = in an instant bling of light, the prison appeared to collapse to ashes as i= ts true form took place.

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All around Franco, the once viridesce= nt and illuminated environment transformed into a greyscale horror of an au= gmented reality set. Fraud was present and Franco took advantage of this. S= printing towards the nearest rusted door in sight, a yell could be heard fr= om the ceiling as footsteps shunned his eardrums. 

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As he escaped the institute of illusi= ons, he arrived at an even more hebetude office block, peculiar yet familia= r. He began to saunter around until a sudden sixth sense struck his mindsca= pe. ?This isn't real.? He blurted aloud, realising the horrifying truth and= immediately screaming an array of expletives that no living person should = be forced to hear.

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Reality had once again deceived him f= or it was further becoming apparent that an attempt at escape was fruitless= ?Is this a test?? Franco yelled out loud, yet to his assumption no respon= se was active, however that was not his intention. In conjunction with the = words leaving his mouth, air accompanied it and he noticed a distinct lack = of movement all around him. This information further proving his perception= for the stack of paper before him lay restless and seemingly sly.=20

 

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Assuming anything but success, he sud= denly sprinted at the nearest wall, yet additional flimsy design led to Fra= nco tearing straight through the combination of electronics and cardboard. = He now stood in the opposite of the previous serene environments, for now h= e was in what once was considered no man's land. A bleak and disconsolate w= asteland. Hope had truly left his ideology and at this rate would never sub= merge.

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Franco now lay upon the brink of pure= insanity, as he knew not at what end the madness would conclude. He fell t= o his knees in dismay, apparently too hard for he tore through the ?soil' a= nd fell upon a begrimed Victorian style house, further implying the inevita= bility of his failure.

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A laugh rang out from far away, not a= happy laugh at a humorous joke, but a soulless sinister snicker at the col= lapse of a man's mindscape. The laugh belonged to a man sat atop a throne, = a throne of human failure for the laugh belonged to the man responsible for= Franco's eternal imprisonment. The man responsible for the beginning and c= urrent end of Franco's life.

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?What bloody use is it sending us ou= t here on our own?? Said the new gunner. A young lad named Robertson. He ha= d come from London with a fresh batch of replacements. Monty's Eigth Army h= ad taken a beating across the North Africa campaign. Sergeant Day had grima= ced when he first saw him. Fresh faced, clean shaven. His uniform was finel= y pressed and his boots sparkled. Day had got him shy of them quickly. Thos= e thick army boots got in the way of the foot pedal trigger for the 75mm ca= nnon - their personal weapon of destruction. They found him a nice pair of = suede shoes in a Cairo market. It made them laugh sometimes; they imagined = Field Marshall Montgomery coming to inspect their troop and finding 5 scruf= fy, unshaven men, dressed in a hodge podge of corduroy trousers, suede shoe= s, and torn battledress. Very quickly the crew took Robertson under their w= ing. He was the kid of their squadron, only nineteen years old. Day was in = his thirties, positively ancient by comparison. 

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?Oh I don't know boyo.? Said ?Sandy?= Martin, a thick legged Welshman. He himself only in the crew a few months,= but already a veteran. ?Somebody's got to watch the flanks y'know.? <= /span>

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The four crewmen of Day's tank sat i= n the hot sand eating a mixture of sliced corned beef and hard tack biscuit= Meanwhile Day surveyed the surrounding area. He had grown to be weary of = the desert. Looking out it looked flat, but once you were down and amongst = it there were lots of places to hide. John ?Jock' Campbell, pulled a flimsy= off of the back off the tank, and poured a gallon of water into a bucket a= nd placed it on top of a make do stove. Jock had been with the Squadron sin= ce they first landed in Africa. He'd been the driver of every sort of tank = the British army could muster, Honeys, Crusaders, Matildas, Grants, before = finally landing a cushy seat in a Sherman tank. 

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?Fancy a cuppa char Sergeant?? Calle= d Geordie to Sergeant Day. He was stood near the top of a small embankment = surveying the ground around them.

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?Aye Geordie, ta.? He said, not= looking away from his field glasses. He had snatched them from a Germ= an tank commander who he was sure would never need them again. He was funny= like that, Day, he would pick up odds and ends here and there ?Jus' ?ncase= ' he needed them somewhere down the line. For a man whose future was so unb= elievably indefinite he often found himself thinking about it. What job he'= d have coming out of it all. Would he be a good father? Would Michael Smith= the bastard next door be happily dead when he got home? Would he get home?=

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He looked through his bright spectac= les. What was out there? He'd had a tough time running into German anti tan= k guns in the early days of the desert war, and an even tougher time recent= ly, running into the fearsome ?Tiger' Tank. Its powerful 88mm gun could pun= ch a whole straight through his tank, not to mention the dreaded Spandau ma= chine gun which would tear him to shreds if he tried to flee. He could see = it now, in the dead of night, the ripping sound of spandaus and the ear sha= ttering cacophony from the 88, throwing him and the turret from the steel b= ody rending him into a series of bloody ribbons; then bundled smouldering i= n a heap on the floor.

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Day mused on this future for a = moment, then - suddenly: figures bobbed along upon the sandy horizon of his= warm black field glasses. He studied the figures intensely. Were they ours= ? He couldn't be sure. The haze of the desert distorted his view and his ey= es strained against the pale sand. He skidded down the embankment he had pe= rched himself upon and clambered back onto his tank. It was American made, = strong, encouraging, but damned tall. He slid himself into the round top ha= tch and, reaching his arm down, clicked the wireless set to the ?A' set and= spoke into his microphone.

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?Hullo, Able Two, got some funny boy= s tramping around here, are these our little friends? Able over.? 

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The radio crackled for a moment. It = reminded him of when his mother would struggle to find the BBC back home. H= e would have to buy her a nice radio when he got back. He had picked up a n= ice one from a brewed up little Italian tank, but a trigger happy artilleri= st had seen to it that it would never see England. Then through the crackli= ng of the wireless came the Squadron's Major.

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?Ah Hello, Able Two. No word from ou= r little friends. With any luck they'll be Eyeties and give up. Proceed as = you see fit. Able Two over.?

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?Able Two. Roger. Over.? He clicked = back onto the intercom and removed the headset from his ears. He clambered = back out of the claustrophobic turret. At the back of the tank was the rest= of the crew. The four men were huddled around a petrol stove making a chlo= rinated cup of tea. 

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?A'right lads,? He said, casting sha= dow over the men ?Mount up= now. We've got some infantry up ahead we've got to check out.?<= /p>=20

There was a unanimous moan amongst t= hem. 

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?Oh come on now Serge we've just got= it boiling.? Spoke the operator Geordie, a tall man who had been a bookkee= per in Newcastle before the war.

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?Aye, Day,? Spoke Jock, ?Probably ju= st some Eyeties looking fir someone tae surrender to.? He had been unemploy= ed prior to the scuff. He'd volunteered on the first day of the war, happy = for something to do. Little did he know he would be driving an iron bo= x around the scorching desert under the burning sun with dust acting as an = abrasive on his eyes from dusk till dawn. He had a permanent squint on, jus= t to be safe.

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??Nd what if they're Gerry?? Asked S= andy, the thick legged Welshman. He had been a Farmer. Now he was the Co-dr= iver of their Sherman tank.

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?Then we'll just tell them to sod of= f while we have a brew.? Robertson said. He had been a schoolboy before the= war. 

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Despite their protestations the men = all shifted quite quickly, packing away their stove and downing gulps of ve= ry weak tea. They clambered into the tank, hopping on the front glacis plat= e or climbing onto the turret, each sliding into the steel lummox.=20

 

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What would happen now then? He could= sally forth and go up and ask them who they were. If they were British the= n there'd be no problem. If they were Italians they might&nbs= p;surrender, but that was no guarantee. If they were Germans then they coul= d expect to be hit by some unseen supporting tanks, or anti-tank guns. The = crew sat waiting for their commands. Day looked around the cramped fighting= compartment of his mobile home, huddled with his men in the gloomy, swelte= ring interior. He wondered what they would do once it was all over. Would t= hey be able to slip back into civilian life easily? Would some of they stay= on? Would some of them never return home? Day dismissed this thought from = his mind. It wasn't thoughts like that which got him out of Dunkirk. Beside= s, these were good lads, they knew their stuff. They could get out of a pin= ch.

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?A'right,? He said over IC (Inter-co= mm) ?Driver start up, Operator load HE.? High explosive rounds would be goo= d against infantry. ?Martin keep your eyes open for AT guns or armour. Nobo= dy shoot ?til I give the order. These could be our lads. Right, Driver forw= ard and left up this incline.? 

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The engine roared to life and the 40= ton monster lurched up the sandy bank.

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?My bollocks are drowning in this he= at!? Cried Geordie. He clapped Robertson on the leg, letting him know that = a fresh shell was loaded into the 75mm gun.

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?Keep the chatter down now Geordie, = there's a lad.? Day spoke with an unusual worry in his voice. They were in = danger here. He knew that it would take only one well placed shell to ignit= e their fuel and burn them all alive, turning them from Britain's dashing y= oung heroes into screaming= human torches clawing at the hot steel walls looking for escape. If they w= ere lucky the ammunition would detonate and kill them mercifully in an inst= ant. The thought made Day shudder. He had seen too many good lads fry like = that. And too many more mutilated by flying steel ricocheting around inside= the hull. The idea of imminent living cremation clawed its way into all of= their minds, occupying an increasing amount of space in minds already bogg= ed down by the heat of the desert.

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The tank reared up over the bank and= came level with the figures advancing towards them. Day watched as the fig= ures stopped. The tank idled as the two groups watched each other. Through = his field glasses Day could make out only the shapes of around ten men, abo= ut a section. He clicked onto the A set again.

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?Hullo, Able Two. I can't make out t= hese infantry, could'ya raise our little friends and ask for ?n update? Ove= r.? 

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?Hello, Able Two? Came the voice of = the Major, ?Will do. Be careful now. Able Over.? 

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Despite the blaring heat of the sun = beating down on his head, Day felt cold. They must be ours. They must know = the shape of our tank. He wasn't dead yet so they must know. He turned his head quickly side to side,= looking for a tank, or anti-tank gun. He strained his ears trying to hear = for Stukas screaming down from the sky. He would be first out, if he wasn't= torn to shreds. Day, as the commander, had his head sticking out the top o= f the tank. While it was technically protocol for all crew to ?button up' t= heir hatches when in combat it became obvious to those actually fighting th= at this was suicide. This turned a sophisticated machine of death into a bl= ind and awkward tractor with a gun bolted ontop. So he would be the first o= ne out. He'd spring out the hatch and leap to the ground - better a broken = leg than the aforementioned alternative. Then out would come the two driver= s, or perhaps only one of them depending where the shell hit them. Then= out would come Geordie, if he wasn't dead. He would wiggle his way past th= e gun and slide out the hatch. Finally Robertson would come out, under the = gun, up the turret and out the hatch. Day knew that statistically one of th= em would die if they got hit. Then the Majors voice came through the air, s= napping Day out of his frightening thoughts.

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?Hello, Able Two, our boys are about= three miles north of you. Your little friends are not ours. Proceed with c= aution. Able out.?

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Every set of eyes widened in the tan= k as they heard the Majors voice. There was a moment of silence. Robertson = and Geordie turned to look at Sergeant Day, awaiting for his command. =

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Day was frozen in place. They weren't dead yet. But they would= be if he didn't act fast.

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?Gunner! Traverse right! Two hundred yards!? He shouted. The t= urret whirled around until it pointed at a cluster of infantry who had hidd= en behind rocks and rolls in the ground, just barely visible against the pa= le sand. ?On!?

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Robertson pressed his head into the forehead pad of the gu= n site. Sweat had already saturated it from his head. His heart raced. His = breathing increased.

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?FIRE!? Day shouted.

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 The gun shattered the air and = sent burning death towards the figures. The ground ahead of them exploded w= ith an ear splitting boom as the breach of the gun flew rearwards. Sandy op= ened fire down in the hull of the tank, sending hundreds of angry snaps of = hatred towards the now scattering infantry. Geordie slapped Robertson on th= e leg and he sent a second shell towards the enemy. 

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?Gunner! Brass up that ground ahead of us! Keep their heads do= wn!? He shouted.

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Robertson fired away with the coaxial machine gun mounted alon= gside the 75. He fired another 75mm shell. The ground exploded and he watch= ed as a dunkelgelb clad lump flew into the air, spraying bright red str= eamers from all limbs.

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CRASH! - The tank lurched to the sid= e, throwing all the men inside around like pills in a bottle. Ears ringing = and his ribcage burning from where he had slammed against the ring of his h= atch, Day called out commands automatically. The turret whirled around once= more as Jock floored it in reverse. The three guns on the tank fired in al= l directions. A german anti tank gun had been pushed into position between = two dunes. Damn! If only he'd been wiser, he'd have charged the infantry an= d caught the gun off guard.

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?Hit that gun!? He cried over the IC= The 75 fired and hit the front plate of the German Anti-Tank gun. The gun= exploded in a ball of flames and the crew were vaporised in the explosion.=  

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?Driver back left over this bank, le= t's get the hell out of here!?

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The tracks gripped at the hot sand a= nd dragged the tank up the rear bank as the guns still chartered away. Germ= an fire splitered around D= ay's head forcing him to duck down into the turret. As they reversed the ta= nk rose up against the bank, rising higher and higher, tilting further forw= ard at a crazier and crazier angle.Just when they were sure they would tip = over forward, trapping them all inside their iron coffin to be slow cooked = by the saharan sun, they came crashing down back into the depression they h= ad started in.

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?Chist!? Someone called. Day's head = was a still in a haze. He pulled his head out of his hatch once again. He b= ecame aware once again that they'd been hit. He grabbed his radio.=20

?Everyone okay?? He asked over IC.

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A grumble of replies came through the air. Seems like ever= yone was fine.

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?That was too damn close Serge!"= ; Geordie Spat, ripping his headseat from his ears.

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The din of battle had left them now,= bringing them once again to the relative calm of the 450hp engine ticking = away.

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"What now, then?" Asked Sa= ndy. What now? Leave? Their position was compromised, in their brief fight = - lasting perhaps a minute from the first shot fired - they had fired 10 sh= ells and almost a thousand rounds of browning; they could leave now and hav= e felt a good job done. But they weren't out of ammo, they had taken only s= uperficial damage. They had no reason to leave. They might be called windy,= or cowardly if they go now. Could anyone blame them? They were alone after= all. He was thinking of what he should do when he thought he ought to repo= rt his action. He flicked the switch and spoke:

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"Hullo, Able Two. Engaged the enemy at my point, took out= one gun and a few infantry. We took a hit but we're not badly damaged. Abl= e, over."

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"Hello, Able." Spoke the Major, as fresh voiced and = cheery as ever. "Jolly good show. Get your boys back before this ghibl= i rolls in. Able Two Over."

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"Able Two, Roger. Out." He= clicked the wireless back to IC. "Right boys, you heard the man lets = get gone."

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And with a word the tank rolled forw= ard and accelerated out of the depression, throwing dust in the air as they= raced along the desert. The Germans gave them a bit of a mortar bombing but Day felt it was nothing= more than a nuisance, really. He sat now, calmed somewhat from his earlier= feelings of fright and panic, and thought about having a nice cup of tea h= e had been promised earlier. He might even try get a few days leave, tr= y and find his mum a new wireless set. He should write home too, let them k= now how things were going. He couldn't tell them what exactly had happened = of course, Hitler might find out that his driver was a Scotsman, then they'= d all be doomed.

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