The Malarn plain stretched out for almost ten kilometers to the east, the stars casting a soft glow across the blowing grasses (or what passed for grass there) as it blew in the gentle breeze. Passman looked across the plain toward hill 663, on which sat a Turncoat outpost, and watched as the guards changed posts. They were painfully visible in the fourteen power thermal-optical scope attached to the M-459 8mm sniper rifle. It rested on his pack, which in turn rested on the ledge of the hide he and his spotter Clifton had dug four nights prior. Clifton was asleep at the moment, her carbine with grenade launcher and silencer resting on her chest, rising and falling with her silent breaths.
Passman watched the relieved guard walk to his tent, and begin removing his boots. He lit up a cigarette, and smoked, in his socks, watching the night’s sky slowly rotate above him. From nearly seven hundred meters away, even through the fourteen power scope, he looked small. Passman panned over to where the new watch was standing, and saw him disappear from view. He could barely make out his thermal signature through the positions view port, which was a scant hands width high by an arm long. It was built to Hoplite specifications, which meant that at least one of the Turncoats in the camp was a prior Hoplite. This new post would be relieved by sunrise the next morning, at which point Clifton would be on post, watching the position as Passman slept. So went the watch of a sniper.
After three more hours, Passman noticed a dust cloud rolling in from far in the distance, moving toward the position. He watched it a moment longer, and realized it was a convoy moving along the single winding road crossing the plain. He grabbed the handset for his radio, and kicked Clifton to wake her up. As she started moving, he put the handset to his ear, and pushed the transmit button.
"Strak six, this is Archer, over," Passman said.
"This is Strak six. Go ahead Archer. Over," came the soft baritone of his friend, Corporal Livingston. Knowing who was on the other end always made reporting easier, as they usually knew what you were trying to say even when static, and background noise threatened to drown you out. In this case, Livingston had been his last spotter before she had broken her leg in a training mission.
"Roger, I have an unidentified vehicle approaching check point four niner seven from the north. Speed about thirty kay pee ess. Four wheel drive, fossil fuel engine. Civilian model off road vehicle, probably a Haiatsu. Unknown number of packs. How copy, over."
"Roger, I copy a civilian model Haiatsu traveling at three zero kay pee ess from the north approaching check point four niner seven. Unknown number of packs. Over."
"That is a solid copy. Will provide more information when I have more to give. Archer out." Passman set the handset down, and looked over at Clifton, sitting next to him now, looking through the spotters scope.
"Any idea who that is," she asked.
"You heard what I reported. So you know what I know. I figure we will have a better idea when the vehicle arrives at the post. Probably another five or so minutes." Passman looked back through his scope. The vehicle looked like it had decelerated some, possibly to navigate the treacherous terrain it now had to navigate to reach the post from the road. "Grab something to eat, and then relieve me here, so I can go take a leak."
"Roger that, Sergeant."
***
Clifton lay behind the gun, and Passman was looking through the spotters scope. Most teams didn't work that way, but Passman had quickly realized why Clifton was a fully trained sniper as a lance corporal. She was a human tack driver at nearly two thousand meters. He was nowhere near as proficient with a rifle as she was, but he was much better at computing trajectories. According to the books, he was supposed to be the spotter, and she was supposed to be the shooter. But most times, the senior Hoplite generally held the shooter billet due to their superior marksmanship abilities. Between him and Clifton, this was not the case, and so they ran by the book whenever they could, even though the book had been thrown away long ago when the UTP had first arrived.
Clifton’s carbine lay next to her, and her breakfast next to that. She was chewing on a piece of jerky, watching the vehicle approach. Passman had gotten to take his leak into a used ration sleeve, and was now eating an energy bar as he watched the sentry. It was obvious through the thermal scope that the sentry knew who this was, as they had left the bunker to signal them in. But what was interesting, was that according to their body language, they were scared.
By the time the vehicle made it to the position, the sun was creeping over the horizon, and colors were beginning to be discernible by the light enhancing optics. The vehicle really was a Haiatsu, blue in color, and there appeared to be four people riding within. As the car approached the sentry, the sentry braced to attention and rendered a salute. It was the exact wrong thing to do, but it seemed that whoever this person was, they wanted that done, because when she got out of the vehicle, she returned it. She then talked briefly to the sentry, and he ran to a tent near the middle of the camp, where the leader must have been living, as her soldiers assumed security of the area around her.
As all this was going on, Passman was snapping pictures, and relaying them to Strak six with descriptions of what was happening. The leader of the unit on the hill came over, and began to speak with the newly arrived woman.
"Archer, this is Strak six actual, over," the radio barked in his ear.
"This is Archer, send your traffic, over."
"You are cleared hot to engage newly arrived female, and
OP leader. All other targets are cleared hot when those two are down. Send in pictures to confirm targets neutralized. How copy, over."
Passman couldn't believe what he was hearing come over the net. Strak six actual, the battalion commander, was ordering him to take out an unknown person within ten seconds of seeing her. "Roger, copy newly arrived female primary target, designate alpha papa zero zero one, and
OP commander secondary alpha papa zero zero two. Record shots. Over."
"That’s solid Archer. Once mission complete, break contact and rendezvouz at ORP zulu hotel three three five niner by midnight tonight for extraction. Over."
"Roger. Zulu hotel three three five niner midnight. Over."
"Good hunting. Strak six actual out."
Clifton was already focused on the primary target, having heard most of the radio traffic herself. The crosshairs of the thermal-optical scope rested on the primary targets chest over seven hundrend meters distant. An easy shot for her, she didn't need to have Passman give her wind and elevation data, but she waited for him to confirm it anyway. She was already mentally planning her second shot on the number two target as Passman began to give her the data she would need.
"Wind, steady at four klicks. Half value. Right two. Sunlight steady at fifteen percent, down three. Target stationary. Shoot, shoot, shoot." Passman said.
On the third "shoot" Clifton pressed the trigger firmly to the rear, sending the eight millimeter fin stabilized projectile screaming down range at just under the speed of sound. Fifty yards from the hide, the internal rocket motor shoved the round to well over eight hundred meters per second. It arched its way through the air toward its designated target. Clifton didn't wait for the round to hit before she switched targets, and sent another round down range. The rounds left the muzzle of the rifle a scant half a second apart and flew through the calm morning air.
The primary target simply fell down as the round penetrated her lungs and heart. The secondary target barely had time to register what was happening when his round too passed through his lungs and heart. As he fell to the ground already dead, the men around him fell to the ground, trying to figure out where the shot had come from. Chaos ensued as the Turncoats tried to locate the point of origin of the shot. Their reverse ballistic computers were set to look for artillery and mortar barrages, not incoming rifle fire, and so they could not back azimuth the shots fired. They were left to relying on techniques based around the soldiers individual hearing. However, there was no reported shot sound, just the sound of the crack of the round as it flew into and then out of its intended target.
Clifton was already taking the rifle down from the shooting rest, collapsing the bipod legs and stuffing it into its carrying case before the second round hit its target. Passman was shoving materials into his pack as the spotter scope recorded the events on the hill. Soon, all their gear was stowed, and ready to move. They moved their packs out of the hide, and began to demolish it as enemy soldiers started to press outward from their positions looking for the shooters responsible. The two stayed low as they took down their hide, making it look like undisturbed ground, then donned their ghillie suits, and collected their belongings. After one more quick check that their position was sanitized, the snipers ran down the backside of their hill, and disappeared into the high grass beyond.
If you notice something about this story, please feel free to let me know here. I always appreciate constructive criticism. Check out my blog for more works at
http://www.barbbuilt.com/blog/. Thanks for reading. More to come later.
