The engine of the truck made a pleasantly steady humming noise as the vehicle sped towards their destination. Karl had checked his equipment repeatedly, and had no ability to start a conversation - and besides, they needed no distractions.
Drew was completely focused on the road, as was Markson, possibly; Karl only saw the back of his head. The silence was no longer uncomfortable, but the sound of engine and spin of the tires was dull even if it was soothing.
Karl looked to the stars.
There was a thick cloud cover with a distant rumble of thunder from a storm nearer the coast. It was the sort of night that Karl had loved as a boy, and he'd sit in front of his townhouse's great bay window and feel comfort in the soft grey clouds and the sound of the rain, while marveling at the might of the lightning and wind. Now he thought of the weather mainly in terms of how it would affect his ability to work. The wind would likely be blowing their way since they were approaching from the south, and he'd need to compensate for the increase in drag for each shot. Staying up at the highest cover would probably be unwise too, given the lightning. He could work with these conditions; perhaps even get an advantage by using them.
Still, Karl wished it would part just for a moment, so he could observe the stars. Star gazing had become his nighttime hobby whenever sleep eluded him.
The night sky in North Africa was blue-black, with more stars than a man who grew up in the city thought possible. It was unreal when he first saw it - there were so many stars that the sky looked crowded. In the center of it all was a bright off-white band of stars and gases. The Milky Way. The last time he'd seen it, it was the summer of his ninth birthday, and he and the rest of his family were shacked up in a cabin in the forest by a lake. He was surprised when his father identified it as the Milky Way; he'd expected it to be pure white, he supposed, not splotched with dark brown and black.
Karl wished he had a book on constellations so he could learn where they were, but it was doubtful he'd find that here. Perhaps he could write to Odele, and ask her to send him one. But...
He hadn't written to his sister in months. Her letters rested, open and read, in a box beneath his cot, along with a stack of blank letter paper he hadn't touched. Her letters had gotten increasingly aggravated over his lack of response in the past few weeks, and he'd been getting them more often; if there was one trait he and his little sister shared, it was persistence. He couldn't quite explain why he hadn't written back. Work, uncertainty, disconnect, not knowing what to say... it was all of those things and none of them. He'd sat frozen in his seat for over an hour until he was called up for a mission when he first tried. As time passed and he put it off, the gap between him and the pen grew larger and larger until it felt insurmountable. What could he say after months of silence?
He knew that he should write to his sister, and to pass on his words to his parents, to assure them that he was still alive halfway across the world and to give them something to remember him by should a lucky artillery strike or enemy sniper find him. He needed to talk to them, even if it was just through paper. But talking had never been his strong suit.
Karl felt his thoughts weighing him down into his seat, so he shook his thoughts off and carefully locked them away in the back of his mind.
He reevaluated his surroundings.
Drew was leaning forward and watching the road even more carefully, likely looking for their stop.
Markson tensed and relaxed periodically. It looked like a nervous tick.
Drew stopped in a gorge by a tall rock formation. "This is as close as I get." He pointed to the top of the small plateau. "On the other side is the camp. That's where the Tigers will be. Watch yourselves."
Karl climbed out. "We'll be careful. You do the same, Drew."
Drew nodded grimly, his lips together in a thin line.
Karl met Markson's eyes. They were cool as ever, and slightly questioning: Are you ready?
Karl nodded, shouldered his rifle, and started to climb.
The camp was set dramatically against pale blue sand dunes with a thunderstorm rolling in the distance. On the left side was the former village; mud-brick homes, one two-story having a radio antenna. On the right, past a series of tents, were the Tiger panzers, nestled safely between tents, sandbags and mud-brick buildings.
Markson crouched down next to him. "What do you make of it?"
Karl pointed at the radio tower. "We ought to take care of that first and eliminate any chance of them calling for reinforcements."
"I brought the satchel charges. If we time it right we can lure them over to the area and sneak in while they're distracted."
Karl grimaced. "We need to save the satchel charges."
"It'll distract them and lure them away from the panzers. Do you have a better idea?" Markson scowled at him.
"How many satchel charges do we have?"
"Five. At least one extra. And if I'm right, the Germans will have those tanks unsecured. I could clear the area and climb in one. Test how much firepower they really pack."
"You'll get killed." Karl deadpanned.
"All job hazards." Markson replied drily. "I said I'd clear the area first didn't I? Look-"
He waved his arm across the area. "Lots of places to hide and hide bodies. I can go in with a knife and pistol while you cover me."
"Reckless. Are you sure? I don't have the widest view here."
"I have the best vision at night of anyone in the camp. My hand-to-hand skills are second only to Murray's. I know how to set up a satchel charge." Markson snapped. "I'm not helpless Fairburne."
"I was never accusing you of being helpless. I just think we need a safer plan."
"Bloody hypocrite. You charged into Fort Rifugio with no back-up."
"I didn't have a choice with Rifugio. A team would've been seen sneaking in." Karl muttered his patience with the other sniper thinning. "I've never been on a mission with you Markson. I don't know how you act on the ground."
"I'm not going to charge in the path of a panzer. I take risks Fairburne, but they're calculated risks." Markson stood, but not completely, so he wasn't sky-lined against the rocks. "I'm going in. Relax, I won't ruin your perfect record."
Not wanting to wait any longer but unwilling to let Markson go just like that, Karl stopped him. "Wait," Markson turned around and scowled. Karl handed him his Welrod and a pouch of ammunition for it. "Careful, it's only one shot."
Some of the aggravation eased out of Markson's face. "Thanks." He replied sincerely before heading the rest of the way down.
Sean eased down to the sand. He felt more secure with a silenced pistol but not as comfortable as he would've felt up high with his rifle. Still, he was suited for this part of the mission, so he'd do it.
And Fairburne might be Fairburne, but he wasn't going to risk him down here. The shadows felt close here, so Sean pushed all his thoughts away.
He currently was in a bad position: his only cover was a stack of crates just outside the village, and there was a guard patrolling closer and closer to him on the right. On the left but farther away another guard was getting close, and soon he'd be close enough to see Sean slip outside even in the dark.
Sean dropped to his belly and watched the guard on the right. As he got closer, Sean carefully slipped around the corner of the crates. He looked up the cliffs to where Fairburne was about. He gestured to the guard.
On the next thunder roll, the guard jerked and fell as half of his face suddenly blew off.
Sean slipped around to the other corner, so if the other guard saw and came over to investigate Sean would be behind him.
Sean gestured to the other guard.
He listened carefully in the thunder for the more sudden and slightly louder crack of the rifle. When he thought he'd heard he peeked around to the other side. The guard lay dead, hidden by darkness and the small ridges and hills of sand around him.
Sean looked back to the village, which was bisected by a wide creek. His objective laid on the other side, and unless he was to swim across with all of his equipment his only option was to cross almost five meters of open, cover-less ground right next to two buildings, at least one of whom he could see guards in.
Two guards were in the unfinished outbuilding to the right of the complete one.
He saw the first guard in the shadow of the outbuilding's timber frame fall, then the second a moment later.
It was good shooting; fast, accurate and hidden by the thunder rolling, but Sean had no time to dwell on it.
He moved up against the white-washed wall of the repaired building, which thankfully had no windows. He kept against it, close as a shadow, before moving back, behind a truck parked on the bridge. When he looked at the truck, he saw a dead guard inside. Good, quiet shooting.
When he was able to look around the front tire of the truck he ducked back. From the truck to the nearest building to his left, there was a wide open road. Almost five buildings faced it directly, and two guards were on the road. There was cover beyond the road, low fences and crates, but he was pinned until Fairburne shot the guards.
Sean took the moment hidden behind the tire to examine the Welrod.
It was plain and rough with no serial numbers to identify its country of origin. The barrel was nearly as thick as the grip, which made it look top-heavy and awkward. Like Karl had said it was a bolt-action. Atop the barrels was a pair of sights with fluorescent paint; useful since Sean knew that the gun was useless against any target farther than ten meters.
He checked carefully. He could only see one guard. As he watched, blood erupted in a dark spray from the guards head, and he fell back into the sand.
Sean ran to the building to his left, sliding the last few meters.
He crushed himself against the wall, holding his breath, trying to hear over his own heart for footsteps.
There was nothing but a rumble of thunder, accompanied though he couldn't hear it, by the crack of his teammate's rifle.
He let out a breath and peeled away from the stone wall.
The building could be a small storage shed, but all the supply crates were scattered outside, a boon for him. Sean crouched behind one, and then moved as quickly as he could while crouching to another, listened for alarms, then repeated the pattern.
It was in this slow, stop-and-go method that he reached the door unseen.
As soon as he reached it Sean dug into his pockets for his lock picking kit. He glanced back to the small road before the radio tower and saw newly dead guards.
Sean looked at the lock. It was nothing complex, built into the door. He inserted the tension wrench, and carefully turned it both ways, feeling for which had more give. Once he had a good angle, he inserted the pick and raked it along the inside the lock. He found the most stubborn pin and released some of the tension on the cylinder so he could push it up. He kept the pressure for the remaining pins until he felt the last one slide into place. He allowed himself a grin as he turned the wrench and the lock clicked open.
He had the Welrod up when he opened the door, but no guard turned to face him or came rushing down the stairs.
The floor room of the house was much like any other house he'd been in in occupied North Africa. There were carpets in dark colors and endless patterns covering the stone floor, cushions in lieu of stools or chairs, and low tables. There was a bookshelf on the far wall which drew Sean's eyes.
He continued crouching before he turned to the stairs, mindful of the windows.
The second floor had a dead guard slumped against a desk. His blood turned the papers red and stained the cheap wood the color of mahogany. Sean followed the trail the bullet would've taken out the open window.
The only other guard was likewise dead on the roof, and a more immature part of Sean's mind was put out by the other sniper taking every potential kill from him. But the rest of him was a soldier and he focused on the task ahead. The radio equipment was set up on the west side against the antenna. Sean decided to set the charge against the antenna itself.
Once it was in place, before he started it, he stood and gestured to Fairburne's direction.
He set the charge, and ran.