The first spotting round of the fire mission came screaming in. I didn’t care if I could see or hear it in the rain, or the fact that clustered down under the overhanging cliff behind the berm, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to properly observe anything anyway. I was waiting for other evidence. “Splash, over,” was transmitted by the FDC at Cunningham. Soon after, a shower of rocks and debris hit the single canopy jungle like a giant barrage of hail, and I smiled coldly into the handset. No correction was necessary. I called for a battery of one, and waited for six more wonderful forty-five pound shells to impact the face of the cliff. Even hunched back as I was, into the very crack at the base of the cliff, I was able to press in a little further knowing what hell was coming down only a few feet away. I felt my team huddled in tightly with me. The six rounds spewed rocks everywhere. I didn’t want the rock rain to stop. I adjusted two hundred meters left and then four hundred right, bracketing the wall in reverse. More explosions tore off surface sections of the old cracked face, and splattered chunks of it everywhere. Everywhere but back under the overhang.

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