disclaimer: i don't know all that much about the army (and don't wish to have a real need for truly in-depth knowledge). I hope this isn't too awfully wrong.

inspired by a history channel piece on snipers for the coast guard


"Hej, Tino. 'r crew's bin co. . . iq's friend tur'nd out t' be . . . sn't a firefi . . . host'ges, but I don' trust th . . .ember, jag älskar dig, Ti . . ."

Tino's blood froze in his veins, his hand reaching unconsciously into his empty holster.

"End of new messages. To return a call, press eight-eight. To erase this message, press seven. To listen to your messages again, press star."

As his hand registered the empty space, Tino's feet traveled to the other side of the room, and his legs bent themselves next to his bag. The sniper scope was resting halfway out of the top pocket. His fingers wrapped tightly around the lens casing. The metal was a part of his skin.

"To return a call, press eight-eight. To erase this message, press seven. To listen to your messages again, press star."

Tino's body eased itself back into the wall, the scope-holding fist pressed to his chest. Tino pressed star.

"One old message. Thursday, eleven-twenty-seven AM.

Twenty minutes ago.

"Hej, Tino. 'r crew's bin co. . .

Co. . . Code, caught, called, killed, stop it. Co. . . compromised.

"iq's friend tur'nd out t' be . . .

Iq? Sadiq. Sadiq's friend . . . A double agent or spy or member of . . .

"sn't a firefi . . .

Wasn't a firefight.

"host'ges, but I don' trust th . . .

Who? Don't trust who? Who are the hostages?

"ember, jag älskar dig, Ti . . ."

What's happening? What's happening? What's happening?

"End of old messages. To return a call, press eight-eight. To erase this message, press seven. To listen to your messages again, press star."

Tino pressed star again.

And again.

And again.

He had listened to the message nine times by the time Lukas walked into the room.

"Tino! Tino, what's going on?" Lukas's rushed to his friend's side. At this point the hand holding the scope was crammed under Tino's chin, and his eyes stared unblinkingly into space. The knuckles on the hand holding the cell phone were almost white as it slowly descended from his ear, stopping midway to his lap and hovering there.

"I got a message from Berwald," said Tino's voice, almost as monotone as Lukas's ordinary speech pattern. "I think something went wrong."

"What did he say?" asked Lukas, crouching next to Tino.

Without his having looked at it, Tino's thumb turned on speaker phone.

"messages again, press star." The thumb pressed star. A crackling static filled the room.

"Hej, Tino. 'r crew's bin co. . . iq's friend tur'nd out t' be . . . sn't a firefi . . . host'ges, but I don' trust th . . .ember, jag älskar dig, Ti . . ." The last words descended into oppressive static until the sound was cut off by the phone's message limit.

"End of old messages. To return a call, press eight-eight. To erase this message, press seven. To listen to your messages again, press star." Tino's hand slowly closed the phone.

"I think something went wrong," his strange voice said again. Lukas grabbed the phone and took Tino's hand.

"We have to go talk to the sergeant about this right now," he said, his own voice quavering as he pulled Tino to his feet. But they had barely made it to the doorway when Tino stopped short.

"What is he's dead?" said Tino softly. "What if he's dead? What if he's dead? What if he's dead?" Each query was louder than the last, his voice's pitch slowly rising.

"What if he's dead? Perkele, what if Berwald is dead?" Without warning Tino buckled into a crouch. His hand still locked in Lukas's pulling the other man down as well. Lukas wrapped his free arm around Tino's shoulders, and the other's face caught in the corner of his jacket, sending warm rivulets over his collarbone.

"Ei, ei, ei," Tino was chanting, rocking back and forth in Lukas's grip, crushing the other's fingers in an iron fist. Lukas bit his tongue and stayed still for his friend.

After a minute, Tino looked up. His eyelashes were stuck together, and there were long clean swathes through the Arabian dust on his cheeks.

"We have to tell the sergeant right now," he said, his voice a little higher than usual but otherwise back to its normal expressive tone.

"I agree," said Lukas, slowly standing up. Tino stood as well, then looked curiously at the scope in his hand. He looked at his bag, then back to the scope, and then put it in his chest pocket.

"Let's go," he said, taking the phone out of Lukas's hand and hurrying away down the hall. Lukas followed him.