Order of the Day
Fifty crunches, fifty pushups, Cho's normal start to his morning, was routine and unthinking. His breathing was slightly accelerated, but he felt alive – until.....
Leaning on his window sill, he looked out onto a bleak, wet and windy scene. It was still raining. "It's SUNday," he muttered. "Where is the sun?" The CBI team has spent all day Saturday winding up a hot case, which had kept Cho standing in the rain for nearly two hours. Born and raised in "sunny" California, he was not fond of cold damp weather. He stared at the bleak landscape and shivered. To complete his discomfort, it was cold in his apartment. Heat had been discontinued two weeks ago, and it had been cold and dreary, now, for two weeks. Perfect timing. Next we'll have snow.
He was hungry. He normally woke up hungry, since his metabolism was elevated to support his lean muscle mass and activity levels. He stepped into some well worn jeans, pulled on a light muscle-t, and slipped on a sweatshirt that was embossed with "I ??? Sacramento!" cursive statement. A pair of five dollar sandals completed his attire and armed him for his foray to find food.
The wind in his face caused him to squint and chilled him even further. The almost hot and steamy interior of the fast food joint was welcome as was the welcoming smell of the breakfast menu. His stomach grumbled as he got into a line, longer than expected. Looks like everyone wants a hot breakfast. Wish they'd wanted it about a half hour from now.
Standing in line, it was easy to remember other times he'd stood in line. The military was famous for its lines and its hurry up and wait in line attitude. Still, he'd known some great guys and standing in line wasn't all that bad when you have good company and good conversation. He took a deep breath. Most of them were dead now.
He was one of the few survivors from an ambush on his platoon. It was raining that day, too. It was spring, and life was offering a budding promise everywhere, when they'd taken the first mortar round. The promise of life turned into the actuality of death, wholesale death. His squad was on the left flank, and through luck of the draw, the strike had been on the right flank. Training prevailed, he hit the ground, found cover as best he could, and looked for a target.
His next memory was the smell of eggs. Hospital eggs were reconstituted from powder, but the general idea was still there and they did smell good. His head hurt and the vision in one eye was very blurry, but the smell of eggs was something to hang onto.
A month later, back with his unit, up to full strength from replacements, he'd received orders for the mission he'd only dreamed of. The heavy sniper rifle felt good nestled into his shoulder. His mood was grim and determined as he sighted on the camp below. The leader was a minor war-lord and the perpetrator of the attack on his platoon. Pay back is a bitch, you M***** F*****.
He read the range and carefully adjusted the elevation. For once, there was no wind. He cranked windage to zero. With a 4 to 16x zoom, it was almost like being there. Now, it was a waiting game. The leader was his primary target, but he wanted to accomplish as much collateral damage as possible.
He'd spend much of the waiting time improving his camouflage. The longer he could stay in place, the more damage he could accomplish. Using his scope and a compass, he calculated his offset from the enemy camp and radioed that data to control. He set his transponder to the appropriate frequency and turned it on.
Afternoon prayer time came quicker than he expected it to. Since they didn't know they were under surveillance, he would have as many targets as he could take. He got comfortable and sighted in. Time flies when you're having fun! At only 700 yards, these shots would be easy.
His first shot was one of opportunity and designed for shock value. The leaders wife dropped like a stone with a bullet in her chest. Before the sound of the shot could reach the camp, Cho and sent another messenger of death to the leader's chest. As the leader dropped, the report of the first shot echoed through the mountains, masking the true location of the shooter.
Cho triggered his radio. "Strike," was his only statement.
"Roger," came the reply.
One by one, he started the slaughter that an air strike would finish is less than three minutes. Even then, he knew he'd never forget the terror in the eyes of the young son of the leader, and he knew then that he'd never regret taking that shot. The confusion of the unexpected death had totally disorganized the encampment. A confused, demoralized enemy was trying to survive.
He was on his second clip of 10 rounds when the sound of a jet in a steep dive could be heard. When the jet pulled up, he tried to vanish into the ground. He felt the heat first, then the blast attempted to rupture his eardrums through his hearing protectors. Rocks and debris rained down for what seemed like an endless time. Below was a smoldering pit. The only sign of life was a badly burned mule, crying in pain. A bullet from 700 yards away ended it's agony.
Back at base, he stood before the base commander. "Sir, Mission completed as ordered......"
Ordered....
Order.....
"May I take your order, Sir?"
"Oh," Cho said. "I'll take an egg, sausage and cheese, thank you."
oOOOo