The Vanguard Vixen

Old Scars

Vivian had watched the building, day and night. She was an observant person. She was living because she noticed details. But there was nothing much to see from where she stood, hidden in the night time shadows, one hundred yards away. There were no patrols outside, only four sentries that stood still at the one exit.

Smart.

But Victoria mentioned something about the number two hundred. So all the rest were inside. All those for a bunch of prisoners. No, there was something else. But more on the inside would make it harder to pick them off. Not in an enclosed space. Not without getting seen.
Someone very smart was running the security here.

But it was too open. There had to be someone watching the other parts of the wall, in case of any attempted escapes. It left only one option. There was a fifth guard. No, not a guard. A sharpshooter. Because the theory didn't work without the existence of a fifth person. The guards and the walls were irrelevant without someone else to watch them from the outside.

Vivian looked at the walls, and at the trees that surrounded her. The small rays of moonlight that streamed through the thick green canopy above were enough to illuminate the entire forest. To her eyes, it was clear as day. A small bump, hidden amongst a cluster of thick trunks to her left stood out. To anyone else, it might have seemed like someone had cut down a tree, chopped it up and then forgot to haul it in. In her experience, it was a perfect spot.

Well, nearly perfect. For now at least.

Vivian headed left, not fast, not slow, but something in between which was overall faster and quieter than either creeping or running. She stopped five feet away, where the dried branches and leaves started, still as the trees around her. Chances were that this was an expert sniper, for he had been left to watch the entire wall by himself. But the one basic thing that came with being human was that when one lay down and aimed forward, they got paranoid about what was happening behind them. Human nature. It was why snipers operates in two-man teams, with spotters. Spotters were supposed to acquire targets and calculate range and all that, but their real value was a second pair of eyes. All things equal, a sniper's performance depended on their breathing and heart rate. Anything that helped to calm either one was invaluable.

Vivian stepped back and listened hard.

One heartbeat. Slow, and sure. She inhaled deeply, hoping to detect the kind of chemical tang that would betray the presence of anything that wasn't organic, anything that could warn the man hidden within the branches. Nothing came up other than the earthly odours of dirt and wood.

She walked a silent curve, working on the assumption that most people were right handed. She wanted to be on his left before she let her presence be known, because that would give his gun a longer arc before it found her. By then, it would be too late.

Below the branches, there was a humped shape. She recognised legs and elbows, all preceded by the soles of a pair of boots, brightly illuminated to her eyes by the low moon light. The fifth guard, armed with a rifle.

The dried leaves spread around the spot meant silent approach was not an option. Not that he would hear much.

Her first step was heavy, onto the dry leaves and it made them crunch loudly. The sniper was arching his back, craning his neck... The second step was more of a crushing stomp, on his neck. A sharp crack and a motionless body was all that was left. Vivian dragged it out and set it beside the pile. She would be long gone by the time they found it. She glanced at the gun. Custom built, walnut stock. A fancy toy. Product of Mainstream Arms, from the initials on the side. Expensive. Vivian guessed it cost about seven thousand credits to put together. The scope had been zoomed through about two thirds of its magnification so that at one hundred yards it showed a circular slice of life about ten feet high and ten feet across. She knew who her target was. The woman was one of the directors of Mainstream Arms, and Vivian wondered for a moment what Vincent Alba and her were doing in an isolated prison camp in Vanguard. But that bridge would be crossed when she came to it. This woman was most probably military, and she would not let the door inset within the gate be opened for her. She would do it herself. Once again, on the theory that most people were right handed, her target would stand a little left of the centre so that her right hand when extended would meet the handle in the middle of the gate. The door itself was less than seven feet high. In trying to open the door, she would put her skull maybe a foot left of her right hand, which in terms of the horizontal axis would put the aiming point about six inches beyond the left edge of the door. The height, she would adjust on sight.