What Door?
The soldier's hands were more accustomed to the type of duties that grew calluses. So with an awkward script and shaking fingers he did his best to write down the thoughts that he had been considering the days past.
"Chloe, my dearest--"
Fuck me, is that cheesy. He tossed both notebook and pen to the ground, grabbed his duty rifle and moved to the window. Grabbing a nearby granola bar he unwrapped it and began gnawing on the stale oats while surveying the area below. The squad had picked this two storey shack purely since it was the only height advantage, that wasn't a god-damn tree, for miles in all directions. He'd questioned if that didn't make them an easier target, but the tactical advantage for seeing approaching infantry couldn't be resisted. He froze and stopped chewing when he saw what looked to be movement in ground cover. At first it looked like an errant wind current, but he kept his eyes locked on where he saw the shift, steadily pulled up his rifle, flicked the cover off his sight and used it to get a closer look into the scrub.
"C'mon fucker."
The plea many a soldier had muttered to the empty air escaping his lips now. He kept his sight centered and waited, knowing movement would betray location far worse than being as exposed as he felt in the window.
Minutes that felt like hours crept by with nearly no sound. Though when his eyes had nearly bugged out from the focus, he saw it again. The glint of metal in the sun for just a split second, but that showed the entirety of the scene he had been staring at. Recognizing the curved magazine of a Kalashnikov, the ever popular workhorse and fear mongering symbol for terrorism now adored worldwide, strapped to a soldier in camo and laying prone in the brush.
"Heh, let's see if you have friends."
He flicked the safety off, maneuvered a round into the chamber and with a slow exhale he centered his sight, found center mass, and squeezed the trigger.
The deafening three round burst fire echoed across the dense growth and the soldier continued to sit silently, breathing a bit heavily from the adrenaline that still managed to shoot through his body even after all these years. His target lay unmoving, of course he hadn't moved much beforehand.
He lowered his rifle, picked his granola bar back up, turned around and was met with the sight of the swiftly approaching business end of a machete being swung full force by a man feet taller and at least carrying twice his muscle mass.
"Oh."
"Chloe, my dearest--"
Fuck me, is that cheesy. He tossed both notebook and pen to the ground, grabbed his duty rifle and moved to the window. Grabbing a nearby granola bar he unwrapped it and began gnawing on the stale oats while surveying the area below. The squad had picked this two storey shack purely since it was the only height advantage, that wasn't a god-damn tree, for miles in all directions. He'd questioned if that didn't make them an easier target, but the tactical advantage for seeing approaching infantry couldn't be resisted. He froze and stopped chewing when he saw what looked to be movement in ground cover. At first it looked like an errant wind current, but he kept his eyes locked on where he saw the shift, steadily pulled up his rifle, flicked the cover off his sight and used it to get a closer look into the scrub.
"C'mon fucker."
The plea many a soldier had muttered to the empty air escaping his lips now. He kept his sight centered and waited, knowing movement would betray location far worse than being as exposed as he felt in the window.
Minutes that felt like hours crept by with nearly no sound. Though when his eyes had nearly bugged out from the focus, he saw it again. The glint of metal in the sun for just a split second, but that showed the entirety of the scene he had been staring at. Recognizing the curved magazine of a Kalashnikov, the ever popular workhorse and fear mongering symbol for terrorism now adored worldwide, strapped to a soldier in camo and laying prone in the brush.
"Heh, let's see if you have friends."
He flicked the safety off, maneuvered a round into the chamber and with a slow exhale he centered his sight, found center mass, and squeezed the trigger.
The deafening three round burst fire echoed across the dense growth and the soldier continued to sit silently, breathing a bit heavily from the adrenaline that still managed to shoot through his body even after all these years. His target lay unmoving, of course he hadn't moved much beforehand.
He lowered his rifle, picked his granola bar back up, turned around and was met with the sight of the swiftly approaching business end of a machete being swung full force by a man feet taller and at least carrying twice his muscle mass.
"Oh."
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