AMX-13
French-made light tanks of the Ecuadorian Army, firing their 105mm gun against illegal mining operations held by Colombian drug cartels inside Ecuadorian territory close to the Colombian border, note the use of white phosphorous ammunition.
seen from China

seen from New Zealand

seen from New Zealand
seen from South Korea
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom

seen from New Zealand
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from China

seen from Italy
seen from United States
AMX-13
French-made light tanks of the Ecuadorian Army, firing their 105mm gun against illegal mining operations held by Colombian drug cartels inside Ecuadorian territory close to the Colombian border, note the use of white phosphorous ammunition.
Portuguese engineer and artillerymen, 1835, plate by R. Knotel
From left to right:
Engineer officer
Horse artilleryman
Foot artilleryman
Foot artilleryman
Artillery officer
@artillry ( roy ) said : “ learn to protect yourself before trying to protect me. ”
it’s so abrupt, so sharp, that even jason ━ as used to criticism and harsh tongues as he is ━ stops short of a rebuttal. roy’s always told it like it is ; no dancing around the point or carefully crafted words twisting riddles around intentions. and there’s an ease to existing near that, the reassurance that jason won’t have to pick meaning from a flurry of useless, flowery words that say much and yet nothing at all.
but sometimes, it still catches him off guard. fingers stutter in what should have been a fluid motion to bring lit cigarette to his lips, brims parted in silence, a heavy pause to stagnate the air a moment. twice jason attempts to force stalled fingers to complete their trajectory ; twice before he’s finally able to close lips around the filter and take a long drag, exhaling smoke & pain in equal parts as he tries not to think about the self - destructive tangent that patrol turned into tonight.
empty fingers flex, broken skin of bloodied knuckles pulling with the motion ( he won’t admit how comforting the sting is ). “ well. you know what they say about old dogs & new tricks, ” he sighs out.