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Prologue to Operation
Posted By: Commander V<Llamaboy225@yahoo.com>
Date: 30 January 2008, 6:49 am
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Mark's aim was flawless. He could hit a target dead center from two-thousand meters. But it was the freezing air that he let fill his lungs that put pressure on the shot. If it were an ordinary training exercise, there would be no problem, but if he screwed up here, it put both his life and his spotter's life in danger.
"Two targets, range: thirteen-hundred." Whispered a blob of grass lying next to him. "Think you can hit'em?"
"Tell me when," Mark replied, leveling his crosshairs on the head of one of his targets.
"On my count, 3, 2, 1, do it." Time seemed to slow down, he blinked once, and with a slight movement of his right trigger finger, a bullet began to spin straight out of his weapon. A split-second later, and a blue-purple liquid jetted from the head of one of the targets, creating a large stain on the side of a nearby building.
"Shit, what a mess," whispered the blob of grass in a triumphent voice.
"Glad we don't have to clean it up," replied Mark, recovering from the recoil of his rifle.
"We, last I checked we had a deal."
"Oh yeah? And what was that?" Mark gently moved his rifle, lining the crosshairs up with the other target, now ducking behind some crates.
"You shoot, you clean up the mess," the blob said, observing the other target's movements with his spotting scope.
"Well, I doubt that will apply here," Mark blinked, and another bullet spun in the air, ripping a hole in the chest of the Elite.
"Sa-weet," whispered the blob, placing his hand inches from the ground, gesturing for a "high-five."
"C'mon, bird's going to pick us up in ten; we need to move," Mark grabbed his rifle and began to dissassemble it.
"Fine, leave a brother hanging," the blob said, lowering his hand in dissapointment.
"You'll live, now let's go." As both Mark and the blob went to stand, a loud whiz was heard, and a red liquid stained the snow beneath them.
"Shit, stay down," Mark said, struggling to pull his pistol from it's holster. "Fuck man, were did the shot come from? Tony? Tony!" He began to move his head around trying to see either the shooter or his spotter. He found neither. All he saw was a long stream of blood, leading down the mountain. He began to check himself, to feel if he had been hit. The cold numbed his whole body, and if he saw red on his gloves, he knew for sure he was hit. Nothing. He reached for the bag containing his rifle, pulled out several parts, and reassembled his weapon. He then began looking for the source of the shot, and judging by scorch marks on a nearby tree, and where he and Tony were standing, his crosshairs came upon a two-story barn over 3000 meters away.
"Gotcha you sonofabitch." He leveled his crosshairs on a small blue light emitting from a window in the upper right-hand corner. His heart began to race as he heard the crunching of snow behind him. At first the crunching was slow, but as Mark turned to face the sound, it sped up. Snow was being kicked up about fifty feet in the direction he was looking, and it got closer. He rolled onto his back, hefting his rifle against his shoulder. The snow that was being kicked up was fast; Mark soon found himself waving his rifle frantically trying to keep up with it. Then, it stopped, his arms were limp from waving his rifle, and buckled under the weight of the gun. He began to breath heavily, and he no longer had the strength to grip his rifle, so it slipped out of his lap and onto the snow. He began to halucinate; he imagined a blur standing over him, and a bright blue light formed just below his neck. He wasn't. The blue turned into a solid object, a Covenant Elite. Instinct got the best of him. He grasped his pistol, and thrusted it directly under the mouth of the Elite. "Damn, you are ugly," he said, pulling the trigger and creating a fountain out of it's head. The Elite swayed a bit, dropped his weapon, and fell onto the downed sniper. The corpse of the dead alien had him pinned against the tree, with only the hand with his pistol free to move. His heart again began to race as he heard footsteps. Much slower than before, almost limping. Still, he wasn't going to let it go. He pulled his pistol to the side of his head, and began scanning his surroundings for anything like before, what he found instead, amazed him.
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