Mccree absent mindedly rotated the cylinder of his revolver as he waited for their target to show. After a week of being smuggled into Europe and three months of intense exercises and drills ran by his new "Commander", Jesse was happy to finally be outside of one of Overwatch's compounds. Even so, sitting around in some dive bar in one of those not Germany countries, Latvia his new boss called it, waiting for some two-bit middle man in the gun running game was not his idea of a good time. Jesse ran countless jobs similar to this with the gang, but the target was always something physical that they could bag and bail. Now his target was informatIon , but the job was still the same and the wait before was always the hardest part. Jesse kept busy rotating the cylinder and periodically twirling the gun. It was habit he picked up to keep his mind clear.
Click
Click
Click
"For the love of all that is good in the world, please stop! You've been clicking that gun of yours for the last ten minutes!" Jesse's handler, Seamus, interjected. An angry Irish man. Or was he Scottish? To be perfectly honest, Jesse didn't care. He hadn't been allowed two minutes of privacy since they took him out of cell back in Arizona, and was traded around between enough handlers for him to not bother learning more than their name.
With a smirk Jesse holstered his gun with a dramatic final twirl. He knew the other agents hated him. Some seventeen year old punk kid randomly shows up then proceeds to show them up in nearly every drill Reyes could throw at him. The worst bit was, no one was allowed to know who he was or why he was recruited so young. Reyes told the senior officers, but to most members of the organization he was just some arrogant kid who knew he was better than them.
Another ten minutes went by in silence as Seamus kept watch over the square.
Another fifteen…
Another twenty…
Another hour. Jesse was not a patient man. Waiting made him anxious and being anxious made him twitchy. He tried to hold his hands still, but it became clear that they needed their medicine. He pulled out a box of cigarettes from his jacket along with a lighter he lifted from a shop they passed by when they landed.
"you can't smoke in here. Hey, where'd ya get that lighter?" Jesse hadn't even had chance to light it.
"Ain't you supposed to be watching for the mark?"
"I have two eyes. You can't smoke in here, Its against restaurant regulations."
"We're just using it for cover. Overwatch owns the place, I'm sure it'll be fine." Jesse lit the end of his cigarette, but before he could take a drag, Seamus reached over and snuffed it out with his thumb and forefinger. "Fine, I'll be in the alley." Jesse got up from their booth.
"Keep your com open . I don't want to hear you running off."
"yeah yeah yeah…" Jesse muttered. He made his way into the alley next to the bar they were in. Finally with a shred of privacy, he breathed in his toxic medicine and calmed down a little. He held his hand out steady. Steadier than a surgeon. Good, nothing worse than a sharpshooter with a twitchy finger.
With his newly acquired peace, he thought about the mission. There were six of them. Seamus and Mccree were in the bar with main eyes on the square. Two more were perched in what Jesse assumed was an abandoned church steeple, and then one on the north and south ends of the square respectively. Each position located perfectly to view anybody coming in or out of the square through the more trafficked areas as well as the back alleys like the one Mccree was in. Their positions could also be used as a defensive hold incase a fire fight broke out. The formation was completely tactically sound, at least, from a military point of view.
"idiots… " Mccree couldn't help but murmur under his breath. Their formation was perfect for looking for anomalies. Foreign intruders. Years of fighting omnics created soldiers who have forgotten espionage. Overwatch was created to unify nations. To unify humanity. They had yet to readjust to having human targets. That is why Jesse was the only one watching the café across the way. A café full of people. Jesse watched the way they ordered food, the way they talked to their fellow patrons. The way they scratched an itch. Jesse watched them act like a heard of dumb bison at a watering hole. He also watched the three who didn't.
Two men, dressed nicer than their builds or mannerisms suggested they had any right to be, and a waiter who didn't wait. All three were clearly looking for a sign expectantly. The men in suits would occasionally make subtle signals to the other. From the glances they shared, it was apparent that the marked one of Jesse's team, probably the agent watching the south side of square. They shared a nod then one of the men gestured for the waiter to bring him their check.
Jesse took that as his cue to get into position. He ducked further into his alley and started making his way along the backroads to a point slightly east of the square. If they saw Jesse's man to the south then they probably figured there was another one watching the other escape routes to the north. That meant that whatever trade Overwatch got wind of was cancelled. The buyer would be able to sneak away, if he was smart, but the seller had to move the merchandise to a safe spot. The cowboy knew all to well the feeling of a deal gone south. If he was still running with his gang, there would be two options in a situation like this. Option A, play dead. Wait for the heat to die down a little. Would work better if they weren't using civilians as camouflage, so if they were smart they would go with option B.
"I see movement. Mccree, get your ass back here." Seamus's voice rang in Jesse's ear. A quick tap of his finger and his mic was disabled. A little chaos was just what the team needed. " I see about five of them." Jesse knew that meant there would be at least six, probably seven. "Johnson, you got eyes on the ones by the fountain?"
"roger that. He looks like he's making a move for the package. Henry. See if you can get sights on what's in the trunk. Where the hell is Mccree?"
"I got eyes on the big guy. The trunk contai-HOLY SH-"
Jesse heard the explosion even without his earpiece. The sounds of the ensuing fight were blaring in his ear. Sounds of his team calling out shots and positions followed by the occasional use of profanity and the desperate plea for their missing team. They were a man down compared the weapons dealers who knew if lying low wasn't an option, then the opposite tactic of creating the biggest scene possible was the only logical step. His team was well fortified in their positions and they cut off the major choke points of their target's escape routes. They would be fine. The heavy artillery could be avoided easily with their years of war experience. They didn't need Mccree to survive the smoke. And besides, this way both teams were a man down.
Jesse whistled to himself as he mozied his way through the alleys. Taking the occasional drag from his cigarette as the chaos ensued a few blocks over. When he found an opening next to a street with several parked cars, he stopped, found himself a good place to lean, and pulled out one of his flashbangs. They were a lot nicer than the molotov cocktails he made do with back in the states. Easy to grab, good weight to them, their blast had a timer, and, best of all, he didn't have to waste his lighter on them. They were real nice. And as soon as McCree heard the sound of running feet, he pulled his Stetson down over his eyes and tossed it into the street.
Flash.
Four men stood in from of Jesse, clutching their eyes. One of the men from the café was out front, followed by two gentlemen, and then a fourth man who was beginning to recover. Jesse but a bullet in his head first, followed by the man at the front. He was told minimum casualties, but the situation went more south than his new boss anticipated.
"Reach for the sky. No sudden movements." Jesse wasn't sure if either of the men left alive spoke English, but he learned that a certain tone of voice and a gun in your face was understood internationally. He gestured to the suitcase the smaller of the two had. "drop it." He did. Mcree made another gesture with his gun for the two men to back away. Jesse walked over the case and started feeling up the men, riffling through their pockets until he found his target. The man's cellphone.
Cooley , he attached the device Overwatch gave him to its port and began the process of cloning the device. Names, contact information, locations. All info this group had on weapon exchange in Europe were placed in safely in Overwatch's databanks. Mission accomplished. Mccree unhooked his device and placed the man's cell phone back into his breast pocket. He then picked up their case and started making his way back to the noise in the square, whistling the theme of an old western he watched as a kid.
He heard the rustle of fabric and quickly turned around firing his six-shooter. He suspected they'd try to shoot him from the fear in their eyes. Men too afraid to try to kill a man until his back was turned. Now the coward stood their clenching his hand, two fingers missing, with his gun broken on the ground.
"Now now partner, Bossman needs you alive. Now git." He motioned with his gun toward their get away car. They muttered some phrase that Jesse didn't need to speak German to understand before they got in their getaway car and drove off.
Jesse began his walk back to the firefight in the square. His new boss needed a report and if he didn't save his squad, then he'd have to fill out the paperwork. And if their was one thing Jesse hated more than waiting, it was paperwork.