In the cold airs of Fréthun, a warm, white puff of breath rose into the violet sky, assimilating with the gentle snow. A snow dotted cloak covered a figure, shading them from sight in the dark night. The analyzing eyes of an intelligent boy scanned the crowd, searching for the head and the peculiar hair of a certain French defect. His eyes caught onto an inch high quiff.
Tristan swiftly slid down the roof, a flying shadow disappearing into the swallowing darkness of the night, his timepiece hanging out and gleaming brightly.
---
Brutally pulled into an alleyway, a man with glasses and a suitcase full of paraphernalia bit down a terrified scream. A girl with a specialized musket hanging on her back dragged him along, skidding across the corners with the stance of an eagle.
Jocelyn sat waiting for Rosalind in a pickup truck, firing up the engine when she saw the girl turn around the corner. The running man had attracted attention, and the pumping car was the definite divulging of their location. Rosalind leaped over the truck's tailgate after pushing the man through. She ducked down immediately, pushing the man flat to the base of the truck, narrowly avoiding a bullet that whizzed past the tip of their heads.
Rosalind gritted her teeth, sliding the gun off her back and hooking it onto the ridge of the tailgate. She gandered over the gate swiftly, adjusting her musket. The fencer's hands trembled with a pang of sudden guilt, which she desperately tried to ignore to no avail.
She fired. Her fingers, weighted with her lingering heart and the cold of the freezing weather, tilted the musket just an inch sideways. Nothing came after the loud pop of the musket's bullet except for more pistol shots, a telltale sign that she had missed. A bubbling frustration burned the pit of her stomach along with the adrenaline running through her body.
An intelligent boy slid into the truck swiftly. He seemed to have jumped from the tiled roof they were driving under. The meticulous girl picked up the car's speed, now that all the passengers were aboard. The boy took out his pistol, cleanly snipping the life out of their pursuers. Rosalind averted her eyes to the floor of the truck, then to her curled fingers.
Jocelyn turned the car harshly around a corner, the tires screeching on the slippery ground. With a yelp, the man struck the side of the truck, rubbing his back painfully. Tristan chided the girl playfully, earning a motherly slap across his ear.
The fencer merely stared at her no longer trembling fingers while she felt herself slip into a stygian wave of doubt.
---
"She's not ready," came the harshly factual statement from the meticulous girl, "She can't turn on her own people."
A wanton boy waved his hands around carelessly, shaking his head. He told the girl to stop worrying, for it took time for even the coldest killers to become heartless.
The meticulous girl sighed, running a hand through her hair. She looked out the window at the forest, feeling her heart quench as the leaves rustled with the backlash from the silenced bullet. A figure furiously shot at a target, eyes brimming with frustrated tears.
---
A certain charming girl pointed her pencil at a certain fencer's forehead, playfully mimicking a gun in an attempt to cheer the latter up. The fencer smiled at the childish lass, returning the action with her fingers. The two had long finished their sketches of the beautiful sea and was permitted to do as they wished.
YOU ARE READING
Operation Reconnaissance
AcciónPrior to war was a serene time of peace, and peace was hallow. In the course of the war was a tumultuous time of chaos, and chaos was a tornado that whirled in innocents into the eye of the storm. War was a curse put upon the two quarrellin...
