The plane’s roar grew louder, and it descended to the height where it was barely above buildings. The pilots even deployed the landing gear.

‘Puff’

The aircraft shot flares, and started lifting its nose. The engines' roar increased, until the transport stopped its descent and began climbing. At the lowest point of its trajectory, a couple of parachutes deployed, and dragged a pallet with a pile of crates out of the aircraft’s belly.

‘ROOOOOOOAR’

The transport flashed above the square and only the crates remained. They sled for a dozen of meters until they stopped.

“This is Beril-Main, the cargo is secure. Bring in the mule, boys.”

Since it is an important military cargo, I did not let the civilians approach. The allied military too was kept away too but I gave them a sign that the square is free, minus the crates.

My waiting did not last long, and ten minutes later the humming of diesel announced the tank’s arrival. A minute later the T-90 showed up on the other side of the square.

Jester was sitting on the front plate, giving Old man commands. He was holding to the gun and leisurely shouted where to go.

“A bit more! Drive it a bit further! That’s it! Halt!” (J)

“You are having fun with driving around the civilians~?” I know this pain all too well. The civilians have some maniacal fun of jumping around the moving vehicles, or running across the street, brake-checking cargo trucks.

Those medieval guys would be even worse.

“We absolutely do. Let’s load those crates.” (O)

I giggled and checked the cargo belts and locks, while the crew was unloading the cargo pallet.

After I gave a thumb-up, the work began and the crates were slowly loaded on the armor. We soon looked like an afghan tank [1979-1989 Afghanistan war].

When the last crate was tied, Jester sat at the same place he used to sit earlier.

“We did a good job, right?” (J)

“Not bad, not bad at all. You also will have to unload them later.”

“Can’t you keep this part unvoiced?” (J)

“Alright, I will. Now, get the f* away from here.”

“What now?” (J)

“I’ll be sitting here, you get on top and watch the cargo.”

“Haaa… This isn’t fun.” (J)

“I don’t care about fun. I say jump, you ask how high.”

“Sir, yes sir…” (J)

I sat on the gun barrel and guided us back. We rolled over a few piles of rubble but none of the crates was lost. After we arrived to the house, I had my dummies unload the crates.

Finally, I had them all in sight.

“Right, let’s start sorting this stuff.” (O)

“They all should be marked.” I glanced at one of the crates and confirmed that there are markings with the inventory.

The one that I checked contains HE shells, and a couple of AP shells.

“Hu-hu-hu~…”

‘I don’t like it…’ (J)

‘You see that crate…? It weights too much to be a coincidence…’ (O)

“You’re right. It contains 2 shells, and those three too. They’re all yours~!”

“Thank you…” The grit their teeth and started dragging those cuties back on the turret, where they belong to.

Jester hid inside the turret and I waited for his conclusion.

“There are more than I ordered…?” (J)

“You forgot about the spares.”

There are several shells stored outside of the autoloader carousel. A few are inside of the turret space, and a few dozens are in rack, right by the driver.

“Thank you.” Old man fumed immediately.

“Relax, those are just spares. Neither of them will be by your side.” I ordered enough to fill the turret space. If we end up ammo-detonated, then we will die in any case but a few shells are a few shells.

“Thank. You.” (O)

I couldn’t help sighing. While the heavy crates with fuel and shells were loaded with the help of the brute force and a certain mother, I was thoroughly unpacking the other crates. While boxes with condensed milk and boxes with bed accessories were not as heavy as the crowbars, they were not feathers too.

Considering that the half of the cargo was not for direct military use, I surpassed myself by unpacking everything by the night.