The soldiers stood poised for battle with an assortment of weapons ranging from M60's to Remington Combat Shotguns. My pounding heart seemed to want to explode from my chest at that moment. Around the open, marsh-like area swirled a mist that enveloped the myriad faces hidden among the long grass. In a large, hastily dug trench they lay in wait caked with mud and full of uncertainty.
I looked at all of their weapons one by one, some faintly reflecting the gentle glow of the moon's soft light like a pool of water. I imagined what those weapons could do to me, the lone sniper. The tangle of trees they all saw and took note of wasn't a tangle of trees; it was I. Yes, the barrel of my gun was just another branch like so many others.
Originally, I was never supposed to take on this job. Sure, I'm more than qualified, but reconnaissance had always been my true goal. I remember clearly when I came into the vicinity of my insertion point on the chopper. When I went to pick up my gear, they stole my CAR-15 and stuck me with a PSG1. After a couple of funny looks, they shoved me out of the chopper and yelled after me, "Have fun!" Yeah, right. Oh, I was pissed. Hey, I still am.
I got into my original position a little while later, feeling quite awkward with a sniper rifle instead of my Carbine. A couple of hours later, I got my briefing via Codec (a small transceiver built into the ear that allows for clear audio communication). It turns out that an "underground" army called the Next Generation Special Forces, lead by a high-ranking official, finally wanted to make a move. They told me that I would be meeting a small recon team and that I was to take them out myself. Being the sniper, I said, "Why not?" Really, all I was thinking about at that time was, "That damn Peanut's piano tune is stuck in my head!"
I got word of their position shortly before my Codec went dead, but they told me that I was dealing with much more than the average sized recon team. Now they tell me. Three days of waiting in this hell hole and moving a fraction of an inch (do you have ANY idea how hard it is to go to the bathroom without moving?) to find that their "recon" team isn't a recon at all; they gave me a whole damn army. Note to self: beat up the Intelligence XO and slash his tires.
My extraction should be coming in about another sixteen hours, since my communication with HQ was cut off. If my chopper comes for me, this army of 500 or so is going to know that I'm here. The helicopter won't last long either. Five hundred of them don't sound that bad, right? Well, maybe I should explain the Next Generation Special Forces a little better.
Imagine the perfect soldier. No, I'm serious. Cool judgement, quick reflexes, and the ability to do college algebra in their head in a few seconds. These genetically enhanced soldiers are all killing machines, most of them test tube babies. Their IQ's exceed 180 each. Ha, mine's 148. I was also told that just one or two of these guys could take out a whole platoon of Navy SEALs. Personally, I don't believe it. Even so, I can safely say that I'm screwed. Ugh, those Pentagon bastards! I know they did this to me, I KNOW it! Who do they think I am, anyway? Solid Snake? John Clark? Dimingo Chavez? Hell, my code-name is "Boar!" What does that say?
I've made the decision to move out at dawn. I'll have a very slight window of opportunity when I put my plan into action. Most of these guys have been awake all night; I've not seen any of them sleep. Even super humans need some rest every once in a while. After they're all dosing like babies, I'll make an attempt to hardwire my Codec to the battery of my watch. With the bright sunlight in their eyes and only brush in front of them, the daytime sentries will never see me.
I never thought I would hear another human voice again, just the death hymn of a bullet as it whistled through the air. I got hold of command just before they could launch the chopper. The XO told me that some of the LAND SAT photos showed a group of men behind the front lines packing up gear and preparing to move in my direction. Wonderful. Before my Codec battery went dead, he told me that he would send a jet that was already en-route to their compound overhead as a distraction.
As I waited for the distraction that would probably never come, I started to notice some things about the movements of the soldiers. They became repetitive, and almost like clockwork. One guy even yawned every 50 seconds, as if he was timed to do so. Maybe some kind of game to entertain himself? I don't guess I'll ever know.
Something weird happened right as the sun started to peek over the lavender horizon. For about half a second, every man in that army flickered. Yes, flickered like a light bulb. It only happened for a second, but after it happened, the group as a whole looked like an old movie. That's when my blood ran cold. I had been in VR training enough times to know what a hologram looked like, and this was one if I had ever seen one. My heart decided to beat faster and faster. I knew for a fact that I had been set up, and that I probably even had a scope on me that very second. However, this wasn't the case.
After regaining my bearings, I walked around a little bit and cautiously approached the "men" in front of me. I slung my PSG-1 over my shoulder and drew my H&K VP-70 should a firefight break out. I actually stood inside the yawning guy.
Once behind the line, I looked around to find a portable generator and a recon camp that had just been left. I secured it pretty quick, devouring a bag of Cheetos that I came across. They were loud, oh so loud, as three men trampled on into the camp, joking and talking about their latest hookers from a few nights ago. This was the last thing they talked about ever before I fired three shots and ended their almost meaningless lives. The three sharp staccato shots sounded almost like music to my ears.
The next thing I knew, I felt cold steel to the back of my head, and a loud clicking noise followed by a surprised gasp. Realizing that this person's gun had just jammed, I spun and had my own gun to her head in less than a second. Yes, a her. She begged and pleaded for me not to kill her. Tears rolled down her dirty face, leaving small trails. I never would have been able to do it had it not been for my reflexes. Now, I have to live with myself, knowing that I stared into those huge, beautiful green eyes and killed her.
I set up on the outside of the camp for a while with my PSG-1 to see if any came back, but none did. I realized that the camp was set up for four, and I had taken care of that many. After establishing contact with command using the dead girl's radio (apparently she was the COM's expert), I told them of my findings. Now that we know the secrets of the Next Generation Special Forces, using highly advanced holograms to intimidate a platoon or battalion of men, we should have less problems concerning them.
It's about 13:00, and I only have 2 1/2 hours left to wait here. I'm hoping that the rest of the army doesn't realize what has happened to their recon unit.
About the time my new watch that I stolen off of one of the guards hit 16:00, my radio started crackling, and I got some...bad news. The XO of the operation informed me of a large bogey heading my way and closing fast. They told me that it was ground based, and to expect the worst. Man, I don't want to die with that Peanuts' tune stuck in my head!
I figured it out before it even got to my camp -- it was Metal Gear. It was on to my trail and closing fast. Funny how some people can whip a Stinger Missile launcher right out of their pockets and I can't, isn't it?
I figured I would eventually have to get rid of that generator before long, but I was pleasantly surprised. The EMP (Electro magnetic pulse) emitted from it threw off Metal Gear's sensors and he rammed right into it. That is honestly the biggest explosion I have ever seen, and probably the most unprepared, disorganized and most STUPID pilot that ever walked the face of this earth. Some people are just stupid. Hey, there is a moral -- don't run into hologram generators with your mech!
Whoo hoo! My chopper came half an hour later. Apparently, they ran out of gas. Typical. I doubt I'll get to go home before hearing all of the lectures of "You didn't see ANYTHING." or "If you tell anyone, I'll have rabid squirrels gnaw off your toenails!" All in a day's work for your average, every day Black-Ops agent.
I looked at all of their weapons one by one, some faintly reflecting the gentle glow of the moon's soft light like a pool of water. I imagined what those weapons could do to me, the lone sniper. The tangle of trees they all saw and took note of wasn't a tangle of trees; it was I. Yes, the barrel of my gun was just another branch like so many others.
Originally, I was never supposed to take on this job. Sure, I'm more than qualified, but reconnaissance had always been my true goal. I remember clearly when I came into the vicinity of my insertion point on the chopper. When I went to pick up my gear, they stole my CAR-15 and stuck me with a PSG1. After a couple of funny looks, they shoved me out of the chopper and yelled after me, "Have fun!" Yeah, right. Oh, I was pissed. Hey, I still am.
I got into my original position a little while later, feeling quite awkward with a sniper rifle instead of my Carbine. A couple of hours later, I got my briefing via Codec (a small transceiver built into the ear that allows for clear audio communication). It turns out that an "underground" army called the Next Generation Special Forces, lead by a high-ranking official, finally wanted to make a move. They told me that I would be meeting a small recon team and that I was to take them out myself. Being the sniper, I said, "Why not?" Really, all I was thinking about at that time was, "That damn Peanut's piano tune is stuck in my head!"
I got word of their position shortly before my Codec went dead, but they told me that I was dealing with much more than the average sized recon team. Now they tell me. Three days of waiting in this hell hole and moving a fraction of an inch (do you have ANY idea how hard it is to go to the bathroom without moving?) to find that their "recon" team isn't a recon at all; they gave me a whole damn army. Note to self: beat up the Intelligence XO and slash his tires.
My extraction should be coming in about another sixteen hours, since my communication with HQ was cut off. If my chopper comes for me, this army of 500 or so is going to know that I'm here. The helicopter won't last long either. Five hundred of them don't sound that bad, right? Well, maybe I should explain the Next Generation Special Forces a little better.
Imagine the perfect soldier. No, I'm serious. Cool judgement, quick reflexes, and the ability to do college algebra in their head in a few seconds. These genetically enhanced soldiers are all killing machines, most of them test tube babies. Their IQ's exceed 180 each. Ha, mine's 148. I was also told that just one or two of these guys could take out a whole platoon of Navy SEALs. Personally, I don't believe it. Even so, I can safely say that I'm screwed. Ugh, those Pentagon bastards! I know they did this to me, I KNOW it! Who do they think I am, anyway? Solid Snake? John Clark? Dimingo Chavez? Hell, my code-name is "Boar!" What does that say?
I've made the decision to move out at dawn. I'll have a very slight window of opportunity when I put my plan into action. Most of these guys have been awake all night; I've not seen any of them sleep. Even super humans need some rest every once in a while. After they're all dosing like babies, I'll make an attempt to hardwire my Codec to the battery of my watch. With the bright sunlight in their eyes and only brush in front of them, the daytime sentries will never see me.
I never thought I would hear another human voice again, just the death hymn of a bullet as it whistled through the air. I got hold of command just before they could launch the chopper. The XO told me that some of the LAND SAT photos showed a group of men behind the front lines packing up gear and preparing to move in my direction. Wonderful. Before my Codec battery went dead, he told me that he would send a jet that was already en-route to their compound overhead as a distraction.
As I waited for the distraction that would probably never come, I started to notice some things about the movements of the soldiers. They became repetitive, and almost like clockwork. One guy even yawned every 50 seconds, as if he was timed to do so. Maybe some kind of game to entertain himself? I don't guess I'll ever know.
Something weird happened right as the sun started to peek over the lavender horizon. For about half a second, every man in that army flickered. Yes, flickered like a light bulb. It only happened for a second, but after it happened, the group as a whole looked like an old movie. That's when my blood ran cold. I had been in VR training enough times to know what a hologram looked like, and this was one if I had ever seen one. My heart decided to beat faster and faster. I knew for a fact that I had been set up, and that I probably even had a scope on me that very second. However, this wasn't the case.
After regaining my bearings, I walked around a little bit and cautiously approached the "men" in front of me. I slung my PSG-1 over my shoulder and drew my H&K VP-70 should a firefight break out. I actually stood inside the yawning guy.
Once behind the line, I looked around to find a portable generator and a recon camp that had just been left. I secured it pretty quick, devouring a bag of Cheetos that I came across. They were loud, oh so loud, as three men trampled on into the camp, joking and talking about their latest hookers from a few nights ago. This was the last thing they talked about ever before I fired three shots and ended their almost meaningless lives. The three sharp staccato shots sounded almost like music to my ears.
The next thing I knew, I felt cold steel to the back of my head, and a loud clicking noise followed by a surprised gasp. Realizing that this person's gun had just jammed, I spun and had my own gun to her head in less than a second. Yes, a her. She begged and pleaded for me not to kill her. Tears rolled down her dirty face, leaving small trails. I never would have been able to do it had it not been for my reflexes. Now, I have to live with myself, knowing that I stared into those huge, beautiful green eyes and killed her.
I set up on the outside of the camp for a while with my PSG-1 to see if any came back, but none did. I realized that the camp was set up for four, and I had taken care of that many. After establishing contact with command using the dead girl's radio (apparently she was the COM's expert), I told them of my findings. Now that we know the secrets of the Next Generation Special Forces, using highly advanced holograms to intimidate a platoon or battalion of men, we should have less problems concerning them.
It's about 13:00, and I only have 2 1/2 hours left to wait here. I'm hoping that the rest of the army doesn't realize what has happened to their recon unit.
About the time my new watch that I stolen off of one of the guards hit 16:00, my radio started crackling, and I got some...bad news. The XO of the operation informed me of a large bogey heading my way and closing fast. They told me that it was ground based, and to expect the worst. Man, I don't want to die with that Peanuts' tune stuck in my head!
I figured it out before it even got to my camp -- it was Metal Gear. It was on to my trail and closing fast. Funny how some people can whip a Stinger Missile launcher right out of their pockets and I can't, isn't it?
I figured I would eventually have to get rid of that generator before long, but I was pleasantly surprised. The EMP (Electro magnetic pulse) emitted from it threw off Metal Gear's sensors and he rammed right into it. That is honestly the biggest explosion I have ever seen, and probably the most unprepared, disorganized and most STUPID pilot that ever walked the face of this earth. Some people are just stupid. Hey, there is a moral -- don't run into hologram generators with your mech!
Whoo hoo! My chopper came half an hour later. Apparently, they ran out of gas. Typical. I doubt I'll get to go home before hearing all of the lectures of "You didn't see ANYTHING." or "If you tell anyone, I'll have rabid squirrels gnaw off your toenails!" All in a day's work for your average, every day Black-Ops agent.