Mobius Squadron: Shattered Skies

Chapter 41: Figures in the sand

Bravo 1

Sand, sand and more sand. Everywhere Daniels looked there was sand. Even when he slowly panned his scope, all he saw was sand. Nothing of any note, and certainly not worth the deployment of the entirety of the 12th Special Operations Company. But, Daniels reminded himself, they wouldn't be here otherwise. They had been deployed into an area that ISAF GHQ called 'Whiskey Corridor'. It was a long way from the frontlines, but lay directly on the route towards Farbanti. The company had been deployed here on a long term mission to establish a covert presence here and then to monitor and engage where possible in order to assist the ISAF ground troops when they eventually arrived. They had been dropped with enough supplies to last them half a year. The moment they had made fall, the 3 shooter-spotter groups set up little hides while the rest of the company got to something different: digging. They had dug like ants, so that barely a week after deployment they now occupied a tunnel complex large enough to support about 3 times the current number of occupants. But Daniels wasn't down there. He was out in the damn sun, dressed in desert camo fatigues instead of the signature black uniform his team used. He had landed with his HK417, but upon observation of the terrain, he had unpacked a little package he had carried onto the trip. A .308 custom-made long rifle. Daniels remembered constructing the implement as a fond memory. It had been the first major project he had ever undertaken. Endless hours spent toiling over the barrel, the stock and the feed mechanism. It was a beauty. He rarely got the chance to use it since the 417 was much better for most situations he found himself in. But now here Daniels was, scope affixed the top rail, scanning the horizon and the sand for anything. Beside him, Wilson was doing the same thing. Albeit his implement was a little better suited for the task than the scope atop the .308. "How does anyone stay sane enough to paint this?" Daniels asked his spotter. The reply was predictable: "They don't have you pestering them every 40 seconds". Usually Daniels would respond, but not now. Now something had caught the marksman's attention enough to warrant him shifting his scope over to acquire a better look at it. It wasn't much, but it was something. A small distortion in the otherwise uniform sand. "Hey, check out that mound at 280" Daniels called while seeing if the scope would see anything else. Wilson slowly adjusted his body to be facing in the indicated direction. In this environment, their camouflage worked by breaking up the otherwise instantly recognisable shape of the human body. But if they moved too quickly, that effect would vanish. Wilson then brought his spotting scope to his eye. And zoomed in on that area. After a few seconds, he gave a low whistle. "Good eye, we got ourselves a hidey-hole". He was referring to a similar place they were in now: a small depression in the ground with a camouflage net strung across the top coloured in to look similar to all the other terrain. Daniels and Wilson had employed this method many times, most during the war, but some beforehand when scouting out something before the actual war was declared. "Anyone there now?" Daniels asked, flexing his trigger hand to make sure that circulation still reached there in order to fire if he needed. "Nah, judging by the colouring, it's a night hole" Wilson answered his easily excitable shooter. Daniels relaxed his hand then. "Right, we're gonna be here a while" he contemplated as he checked the digital clock he had set up. After that, he reached over to the radio and made a call.

Private Jameson was nose deep in a book at the moment. It was a real page-turner. Being a medic in a spec-ops team was sometimes rather boring, as the teams laid around doing nothing for the most part. Sure, when the action started you couldn't be distracted, but that was a brief spasm of activity before going back into boredom. Well, at least until the radio started barking. <<Bravo 6, Bravo 1>> came the small chest mounted transmitter. Jameson sighed, setting the book down and reaching to answer. <<1 this is 6, send it>> he answered, wondering what he could be needed for now. <<4 and 5 need night vision kit, it just got dropped. Go with 2 to go and grab it>>. Jameson sighed even harder than the first time. He radioed through an affirmative response, grabbed his HK416 and helmet and headed out into the tunnels. The team's efforts hadn't been wasted, these tunnels were masterpieces of engineering. They were tall enough for all of them to stand in and connected to everything. Maybe later, someone would go to the trouble of preserving this complex as a historical site. Jameson pondered that for a while before sighting Sergeant Samson at one of the exit tunnels. "Kits about 200 metres from the entrances. Gonna have to make it quick, Daniels thinks they found a sniper hide" the sergeant explained. It was bad news, but Jameson just nodded as he commenced the crawl up the tunnel towards the surface. The bright sun shined through as Samson moved the camo drapes that covered the entrance. The deep blue sky didn't have a cloud in it. Samson dropped prone onto his stomach for the crawl out, moving in a fashion that was almost identical to a snake. Jameson followed feeling the coarse grains of sand rub against his desert camo fatigues. It would take ages to remove all the particles of the annoying material. But that was a thought for later. Both men were now crawling along in a slow and deliberate manner. It minimised the chance that any watchers would see them. Minimised, Jameson thought, but didn't eliminate it. It was an odd feeling, moving along while a sniper's crosshair could be zeroed onto your head for the entire trip. He could see the kit now. Coloured in the desert camo, there were two boxes there. Samson reached the first one, and started to hook it up to his vest. Jameon did the same. The senior soldier looked over, and once he was sure the medic had attached it all correctly, he started crawling again. The two repeated their agonisingly long process. Jamesoon scanned the horizon until he saw something that made him completely freeze. Samson looked back, only to be greeted with a hand signal from the younger man that made him freeze up. Sniper. Jameson could see him, the glint from his scope reflecting off the sun making his position obvious. They stayed like this for a while. The sun was well into setting now, and the descending orb cast long orange rays over the sand. Jameson slowly started to move again. There wouldn't be a better chance than now. It would be too dark for visual sights, but too light for night vision so the sniper was blind. The two now crawled at an aggressive pace. Jameson reached the drapes, and practically tumbled through. He was caught by Captain Andrews at the bottom as Samson also tumbled in to be caught by Corporal Walters. Jameson let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in. Now, it was time to get back to his book.

Daniels huddled over a small pan with Wilson. The shooter opened his canteen and poured water into it, while the spotter started a stove that lay under it. It wasn't a great kitchen, but the combination had served the two well on their numerous deployments. Daniels then reached over and grabbed an MRE packet. He checked the label. "Soup, huh. I'll believe it when I see it" he said, emptying the packet into the now boiling water. The stove heated quickly but without much steam. "What flavour?" Wilson inquired, his face never departing from its concentration at the stove. "I don't know, just says soup" Daniels answered. In about 2 minutes, the pair found out as they divided it between them. Turned out to be pumpkin, and not too bad either. The meal was done within 5 minutes and both resumed their positions. Daniels clicked the regular scope of the .308 and affixed the night vision one in its place. It was fully digitised including the zeroing features. Putting his eye to the eyepiece he looked over the desert. The area was now coated in a green glow as he checked out the scope. Brilliant piece of kit in his opinion. He reset the rifle to its mounting and then waited. "Ok, watching the hole" Wilson called as he watched for any sign of movement. The spotter was focused and all Daniels could do was wait. So he waited. For 2 hours. "Got something!" his spotter whisper-yelled at him. Daniels panned the rifle over to the hole. "I see him" Daniels called as the figure appeared in his scope. "Range 2100". "2100" Daniels confirmed as he inputted the necessary adjustments. The scope now showed his bullet's impact at 2.1 kilometres so he could position the crosshair directly on the sniper and be sure of a kill. "Crosswind?" Daniels asked, receiving a negative shake of the head. Reshouldering the rifle and adjusting his grip, he flexed his trigger hand 2 times. Then he rested his finger around the trigger. The crosshair centred on the sniper, and slowly following his exhale, he pulled. The recoil from a .308 Winchester leaving the barrel was much greater than that of the 7.62 mm fired by his 417. But Daniels had braced in anticipation, so the recoil barely moved the sights. He saw the impacts. A slight splatter, a spasm of movement, and then nothing. Daniels worked the bolt, rechambering another round into the rifle barrel. "So, think the boss is hiding any pizza around?" Daniels asked. He was greeted by a wide grin from his spotter. Their rotation was at an end anyway. They ducked back down into the tunnels, intent on making off with some edible food, Captain Andrews' permission or not.