by thedoctor
02:35:
The two men lay in the leaves by a tree sitting on the shore of a cold, rushing river. Their bodies hugged the ground underneath them. They had been placed there only a half-hour before. It was a moonless night, and clouds stole the stars away.
Pinpoints of lights danced back and forth a thousand yards in front of them. That was the bridge. Those were flashlights being held by the men on that bridge. That was where they were going.
10:23:
The men had moved seven feet. The sun was still climbing in the sky, but the air was cold and damp. The fog had long since receded back into the river. The clouds were more sparse than they were in the twilight hours. That might make things go slower. The leaves encompassed their bodies as their own flesh would. In this autumn field, they would not seem out of place.
18:56:
The flashlights began to play on the bridge again. The men were nearing the tree line. The grass beyond grew tall and wild and loose. It would provide excellent cover. Each drew out a small bar wrapped in plastic from one of their pockets. Their movements were so minimal that the other man could barely tell the other was moving. They both put the plastic back in their pockets and slowly munched away on the bar. Neither said a word.
04:19, day two:
Both men were now slithering their way through the grass. They disturbed the towering blades the least bit that was possible. The plan was to move as quickly as stealth would allow over to a pile of rocks that might have, at one distant time in the past, formed a fence.
12:40:
The men had made it to the old fence, the grass having made for easy passage. The blades did not group together too much, allowing for the men to move without trampling down foliage and giving away their location. Each blade seemed to command its own domain, and the other dared not trespass upon it.
The men did not like traveling this quickly. It was too haphazard and allowed too much room for error. Error meant life and death out here. But the intel was slow, and the mission deemed critical. The men were planted at a target that was already well-guarded and expecting company. Hopefully they weren't expecting any soon.
They lay behind the rock and signaled with slight movements of hands and heads which would sleep first and which would watch. They had hours yet.
09:29, day three:
The two men had waited patiently for nearly a day. Neither wanted to risk a move closer, and both felt that their current position was optimal. The man with the gun laid it down on the right side of the rocks with its legs extended at the front to hold the barrel that also wore leaves for its skin. The man with the binoculars laid down to his right. A tree lay on that side of the fence and provided his body with extra cover, also.
A car pulled up to the bridge. A large truck with a trailer on the end was following. They both stopped as the armed guards approached. A man in a brown coat appeared from the car. He moved toward the guards and lifted his hand. Another man, short, bald, and plump, emerged from the car.
"Wind is one mile per out of the east," the man with the binoculars whispered.
The man with the gun turned a knob on the top of his scope, then flipped the cover off the front and took aim. A shot rang as the gun recoiled. The sniper's hand flew against the bolt, knocking it up, back, then forward and down into place. The short man fell to the ground. Chaos had erupted on the bridge. "Primary target eliminated," he whispered to the man using the glasses. "Moving to secondary target."
No one had been watching when the shot was fired. They probably didn't even know which direction it came from. They would just now be hearing the shot itself. This gave him time to eliminate a few more before they could locate and come after them. Another shot filled the air. The man in the brown coat collapsed and rolled off the bridge. "Secondary target eliminated. Moving on to suppress enemy fire."
The hand went through its magic motions as bodies began to fall. Guards began to climb down the hills that supported the bridge and into the field. Many fell along the way.
"Foxtrot is in," the second man said. A group of four heavily armed men in camouflage climbed under the bridge from the opposite side as all attention was focused on the sniper fire from the field. They placed something under the bridge and ran back from where they came. "The package is in place."
Another clip went into the rifle as the opposing force began to reconsider their assault and retreated to the bridge. "Bad idea," the first man said. A thundering boom filled the air as flame and debris jumped into the sky. Bodies collapsed lifeless on the ground. "Opposing force nullified."
The men collected their gear quickly and double-timed it back down the river. The netting holding leaves that provided cover for them before now looked comical as they ran upright. The same field that took them more than a day to cross passed by in mere minutes. Further down, a boat waited for them. They jumped in and dropped their camouflage gear. A few minutes later, the four men who planted the bomb joined them.
"Good job, men," the tall one with the giant hands said as he stepped aboard. "Rogers," he said as he slapped the man who looked through the binoculars on the back, "your CO was right about you two. You got in there without being spotted. Without the proper prep time, at that. Almost as good a job as I'd have done."
A smile crossed his blackened face. "And you, soldier. Mighty fine damn shooting there. I think you got ol' Doc Williams right between the eyes. Here." The man handed the sniper a cigar.
"Easy shot, sir," came the reply. "Just did my job the best I could."
Rogers butted in, "You see, Lieutenant, Eagle-Eye here is pretty damn humble. He doesn't like to take credit for his own work. I, on the other hand, am and will whenever the opportunity arises."
"I see." The lieutenant was still smiling. "Well, sniper, you did an excellent job. If we need another like you again, I want to be able to request you personally. What's your name, son?"
"Bell, sir. Dirk Bell."