HRM Legation, Tokyo Japan Z-Day 0815hrs
At the main guardhouse, two Marines had stationed themselves just out of reach on the wide, flat roof.
One equipped with a sound-suppressed L96 Lapua .338, a fully loaded L85A2 resting within easy reach to his right. The man to his left peered through his Winchester WT-645 Spotting Scope and whispered out dozens of contacts and their corresponding ranges. His L85A2 slung over his back and tucked safely between the pouches of his PLCE belt order.
"Christ, mate!" the spotter whispered to the shooter. "Three degrees right."
The shooter adjusted his sight picture to the spotter's coordinates.
"Poor bastard," he said at length. "Not even worth the bullet, now. Be dead in 30 secs."
"SSgt Blake told us not to shoot unless we're under threat of invasion," the spotter said. "Something about the RoE here in Japan."
"Fuck that, Jimmy, me old son," the shooter spat quietly. "We're under fucking attack, 'they' just don't know we're 'ere, yet."
"True enuff, Nicky," the spotter replied. "But still, we're not allowed to fire into Japanese territory unless the gates are rushed."
As if sensing the conversation above, a small cluster of "them' randomly pressed the embassy main gate. Not motivated to attack, they simply turned their attentions elsewhere, seemingly attracted by the screams of a woman a few meters away as she was felled and devoured by another small group of 'them'."
"See that, Jimmy lad?" the shooter whispered, pointing to the scene.
"What am I looking at?"
"That woman," Nick replied. "She starts screaming bloody murder, and the sods at the gate start moving in her direction."
"…and that means what, exactly?" Jim asked.
"Think, mate," Nick started. "They can still hear. I don't know if they can see, but 'they' can hear." He dug around his right thigh mag pouch and prized loose a 5.56mm round from a magazine. He tossed the round out onto the street into an area relatively free of "them". A clear and distinct metallic "bing" went up as the bullet hit the pavement. Within seconds, a small swarm gathered around the area where the bullet came to rest.
"What ya think of that, then, eh?" Nick asked.
"Nothing, mate," Jim replied skeptically. "Don't mean nothing."
"Then give it another go," Nick said, as he handed Jim another loose round.
Jim took the round, looked at it, then he gave it back to Nick. "Is it really a good idea to throw these away?" He asked. "That's one less pill to dish up if we have to fuck off in a hurry."
"But you see my point, yeah?"
"What point?"
"These sods are attracted to sound," Nick whispered harshly. "They hunt by sound. Lemme try something else." He reached into another pouch and produced his shemagh. Wrapping a corner around his wrist to prevent it getting loose, Nick waved the fabric square slowly and noiselessly into the air. Even those of "them" who appeared to be looking right at him seemed to look right through him and continued wandering aimlessly off into random directions.
"The fuck you do that for!" Jim hissed, barely maintaining noise discipline. "Now they fucking know we're up 'ere!"
"No, they don't," Nick pointed out. "Look, they didn't or couldn't see my rag. That's me 'ole point. I don't think 'they' can see."
Seconds passed as the team watched the spectacle below. Their cover effectively blown, they waited for the attack that never came.
Jim remained silent, allowing this new info to sink in. at present, he switched on comms and toggled the throat mike.
"Ops, this is Falcon 1-3, over."
"Ops, here, go ahead Falcon 1-3, over."
"I got some new intel you may be keen to hear…"
A/N: I hope this worked out. It's hard to convey the nuances of cockney English with just the printed word. If you need audio reference, I would suggest any film directed by Guy Ritchie. As always, you reviews are welcome and appreciated.