Directive One: CONDITION ASSESSMENT
Moderate dehydration. Mobility 100% of capacity. Defensive capability 100%. Prosthetic arm functional.
He had been in the field for nearly six days, and was going a little…nutty. One of his handlers had used that word when they thought he wasn't listening, but of course he had been. He didn't know why he hadn't discarded the phrase as irrelevant, but it reverberated beneath the surface of his thoughts like an itch. Going nutty. He pressed the point of his knee a little harder into the stones and let the discomfort refocus his attention. His prone position on a rocky ridge that overlooked the fortified complex was nearly perfect. The Soldier had covered himself with dust and local plant matter to evade detection from patrolling aircraft, and at a good two miles from his target he was distant enough to avoid being spotted by conventional means.
He lay stretched on his belly like a sunning lizard, completely motionless, with his index finger crooked lightly around the trigger. The tactical mask on his face reduced glare to a minimum. He kept his eye set against the scope and locked onto the narrowly slitted window of the so-called secure compound. The left side of the male target's head was exposed, dipping down every few minutes when he lifted his cup and took a sip of whatever he was drinking. The Soldier's tongue felt sticky and dry in his mouth as he watched. He had been without water for three days. At sunset today, he would have to relinquish his position and locate some before dehydration set in and interfered with his aim.
The sun had begun its slow descent into late afternoon when the female target came into view. She habitually came outside the reinforced walls of the dwelling at some point each day to clip some sprigs from a favorite herb bush in a clay pot a few paces from the doorway. He quickly adjusted his vertical angle for wind and humidity, mentally replotted the parabolic arc that his bullet would take, and slowed his breathing. In the space between heartbeats, he squeezed the trigger.
The jacketed round punched through the reinforced glass. The male target's head was suddenly gone, replaced by a shower of fine scarlet mist. The Soldier ejected the spent casing, and chambered another round. The woman looked up toward the narrow window almost lazily, apparently having heard a noise. Something to her right caught her attention, and she glanced in that direction, her eyebrows furrowed questioningly.
Another heartbeat later, the female target's head exploded.
Directive Two: EVADE CAPTURE
In progress.
The Soldier was on his feet with the rifle in his hand before the corpse had finished falling. Although the distance from the complex minimized the likelihood of an enplaced sniper being seen from the ground, it was almost guaranteed that his muzzle flash had already been detected. He ran at a shallow angle along his predetermined escape path to avoid being silhouetted at the top of the ridgeline.
He heard the whine of the incoming rocket before he saw it. There was no time to experience surprise, or to be annoyed that the advance intel had missed a concealed rocket launcher. His heels dug into the thin layer of soil and his hands scrabbled across the tops of the exposed rocks as he changed direction and crested the top of the ridge. Once exposed, he dropped and attempted a controlled roll down the steeper blind side of the hill.
An almost comically soft "whump" sounded behind him and the top of the ridge shattered. The blast blew him into the air inside a jagged cascade of tons of broken rock and clouds of pulverized dust. He tucked his body into a tight ball to avoid being struck by as much airborne debris as he could, but his exposed skin burned. He needed his metal arm to mitigate his landing, and squashed the impulse to cover his face with it. Something struck his mask hard enough to drive the padded rim against his eyebrow, and blood gushed into his eye.
He had no idea how far he had been thrown, but when he felt his body begin to descend, he angled his prosthetic toward the ground in hopes of absorbing some of the impact. But he still hit hard, felt himself bounce and slam. There was no air, he couldn't breathe…pain blazed along his back and both legs, and all was bright light. He clung to consciousness just long enough to know that he had stopped moving and was still alive.
Directive One: CONDITION ASSESSMENT
It hurts it hurts it hurts
Directive One: CONDITION ASSESSMENT
Un…unknown.
The sky was purple above his face. It shouldn't have been purple because his mask had such an efficient ultraviolet filter. His eyes were gritty and sore, but he blinked several times and looked again. The sky was still soft purple and faded to black as it stretched toward the horizion. Several clear, bright stars peppered the darkness, and there were only thin wisps of gray clouds. There was no moon in his field of vision. When he tried to turn his head to find it, agony blossomed and he almost lost consciousness again.
Don't you dare pass out!
He gritted his teeth as translucent spots burst through his sight. His breath came fast and shallow, and he could not slow it down at all. Clammy sweat prickled inside his armored uniform.
Directive One: CONDITION ASSESSMENT
Airway uncompromised. Probable shock. Mobility unknown. Defensive capability minimal.
The Soldier flexed the fingers of his prosthetic left arm and was rewarded with the familiar soft whirs and shifting noises of the mobile plates. Without looking, he twitched his right hand, and slowly rotated his wrist. It moved heavily and was covered in something sticky, but it moved on command.
Directive Two: EVADE CAPTURE
In progress.
Helicopter rotors thrummed in the distance. He had no illusions about what would happen if they found him. He balled his fists and pulled himself up and then he was screaming and his vision exploded into red.
Directive One: CONDITION REASSESSMENT
Multiple vertebral displacement, probable fractures. Significant impairment. Mobility 8% of normal. Defensive capability minimal.
He shuffled a boot through the concave impression of his body in the pulverized rock dust, obliterating his outline and breaking up the crust of blood that had soaked into the ground. Then he held his breath and took a step to measure his stride. It was only an unimpressive ten inches, but he would use what he had. Partially exposed rocks and hard rubble were his stepping stones over the debris field, and he was careful to leave almost no signs of his passage.
About fifty feet away he found the shattered remains of his tactical mask. The sky had been purple and strange-looking because his mask had been ripped from his face and he had been viewing it without the glare filter. The broken plastic with its jagged edges was too potentially useful to pass up. He bent his knees and after a blind eternity of pain his fingers found the mask, and he managed to straighten. He did not have the energy to reach around to cache the mask safely in a pocket, could not spare it. It dangled from his bloodied fingers as he hobbled across the stones in the growing twilight.