"Seek and Ye Shall Find" Part 3
	New York suburb 0730 hours, 27th of April, 2008 Eric lay uncomfortably in the dew soaked forest floor debris, a root digging into his ribs, and inched forward just slightly to peer over the edge of the hillock in front of him. He led a little with the burlap wrapped and silenced barrel of the M25 sniper rifle Gray had acquired for him for the mission, gazing beyond it's barrel into the area of engagement. The target would come along the two-lane highway from the right, before turning one way or another at the intersection a quarter klick to the left. He was a suspicious man, and might take any of a number of routs to his "legitimate" employment, but this was the only road leading to and from his place at this point. A pile of leaves, twigs, and such, with two huge, half lidded eyes barely visible within from directly in front, or so Cindy appeared, shifted beside him with a noise that sounded like a sounding gong in the relative silence. He hissed briefly through his teeth in reprimand. The sound was carried more by the comm. units in their ears, disguised as the popular cell phone accessories, than it was through the air. The noise from the brush pile subsided, and Eric continued looking over the field of fire. He was dressed in much the same fashion as she, a hunter's "real-tree" Ghilli suit ordered from Cabelas, superior to the military surplus Gray could acquire, worn over the grey utility workers coveralls that would serve as their cover if they were compromised. He wore his weapons on web gear under the Ghilli suit, arranged to the sides of his body so to allow more comfortable movement on his belly. The sniper rifle was not attached, but Cindy's MP5 hung from a shoulder sling under her suit if she wasn't holding it. The two of them had camped out in the cold, without the benefit of tents or other shelter through the previous two days. They survived in the camo fleece and Gore Tex they'd brought, cramped inside the observation post they'd dug in and covered over 100 yards behind them and farther up the slope. The position allowed them to observe without being observed, but did not offer a shot good enough for Eric. Early that morning they had taken off the outer layers, continuing to wear thermal underwear beneath the coveralls, and put on the ghilli suits before hunching their way forward. Impatient though Cindy no doubt had been, Eric made sure they took the full two hours he'd allotted for them to move the short distance. If he had anything to do with it, no one would notice them for their movement or camouflage. Eric opened a channel, turning the volume nob on the chord between his ear and the collar of his coveralls. Narrow strips of non-reflective tape held the excess chord to the side of his neck so it would not catch on brush or get in his way, enough slack left in it for him to turn his head. Appearances not-withstanding, the communications device was a standard two way radio, and though they used a high frequency unlikely to be monitored, it would be possible for others to listen in on them. So it was that Eric used standard operational security protocols in choosing his words. "System, Motherboard. Sit Rep" "Cable in position, status green. Traffic beginning on network." Dennis, the speaker, sat astride his BMW Cruiser motorcycle in the brush beyond the target's house. He would follow the target at a safe distance, so as to avoid detection, and await a need for his role in plan B. "Router in position, status green. It's nice & cozy in here. How y'all in da . . ." Eric broke into his pause to consider a safely vague term to use,"Cut the chatter." Timothy sat in the van's driver's seat, laptop rigged to his right, and PDA linked to it strapped to his thigh. His job was communications, electronic surveillance, and to be prepared for a roll in plan B. It had been a hassle to pull him from his communications coordination duties at the safe house for this mission, but Eric would not budge on the necessity of team integrity. Not on the first mission, anyway. Timothy had been game to go into the field and prove himself. As a formality, Cindy too spoke her part. "CPU plugged in and running. Waiting for data." She was the spotter, an essential part of every sniping team. The shooter's job was simply to clean, maintain, and load the weapon, acquire the target, aim, and shoot. The logistics of determining the target's location, relative elevation, distance, wind speed and direction was up to the spotter, as well as being aware of whatever else the shooter might have zoned out in his focus on the target. Howard had been paid a little visit on an anonymous tip, by the local authorities. He would escape prosecution almost certainly, but they would keep him out of the way, hopefully, for the duration of the operation. They waited, always one of the harder parts of a mission. Difficult as it was, Eric had gone over simple relaxation and bio-feedback techniques with them all, and Cindy now lay still, as much a part of her surroundings as a jungle cat waiting to pounce. Eric allowed his mind and senses to wander, taking in his whole surroundings. Things might have been missed while he was concentrating on his movement and on surveying the field of fire. Cindy, too scanned up and down the road with her high powered hunter's binoculars. The less incriminating evidence of their intelligence background that could be found on them, should they be caught, the better. The less evidence of any kind that might be taken from them, the better. They'd made a point of cutting tags from their clothing, even the underwear, and making sure any remaining identifying features were fake. The Owl's brood was as professional as they could be. "Mother board, Cable. Receiving traffic now, sending data your way, one package, three bytes, ETA five minutes." The target had left his house, as usual, in one vehicle with his two guards, and was on the road to Eric. The pucker factor, as some had put it, elevated precipitously in all participants in the mission, the tension increasing, time seeming to slow down and limbs to grow heavy. It was this way before every battle, a heady feeling as the body prepared to perform to its maximum capacity and beyond. Something was different this time, though. Eric couldn't place it, but he was uneasy. Was it only the fact that he was out with unproven civilians for the first time? Or that they lacked backup, were it needed? He'd learned over numerous missions to trust these feelings, but they usually came with some idea of what to do. He knew within that it was time to abort the mission and withdraw, but too much hung on the line of their success in this mission. He held his peace. Just then the vehicle pulled into view, a large Lincoln luxury sedan. It was moving slightly more quickly than usual. "Ten." And the countdown began. "Five. Router, Engage." Silence on the other end, but Eric knew Timothy had already cracked into the traffic light network, was prepared to send the command to turn the traffic light to orange and then red to stop the target vehicle. This ought to allow Eric more time to take out the vehicle's tires. "Motherboard, Cable, . . . Wait one" Another increase in the pucker factor. This was uncalled for, but the tension was evident in Dennis' voice. "Motherboard, Cable. Two spam packs neutralized. Requesting orders sir." Cindy looked from her binocs to Eric, momentarily, her eyes wide. A sharp intake of breath was heard, Timothy's, followed immediately by a revving of the van engine, a chatter of automatic gun fire, and then a subdued "Hoo'Ah. One more deleted." Eric was already moving, thrusting the sniper rifle to Cindy, grabbing for her sub machine gun. She fumbled for a moment at the quick release before disengaging it from the shoulder harness, and took the larger weapon. "System, go plan B. Move in NOW." A quick hand signal, and she positioned it, aimed down range, and acquired the car that attempted to accelerate through the yellow light.Eric pencil rolled to the side, the sub-gun held close to his chest, into a small ditch he'd identified earlier.The van's driver, apparently impatient with the light, pulled into the intersection, forcing the sedan driver, minimally trained as he was, to instinctively hit the breaks. As soon as he realized what he'd done he tried to accelerate again, to pull around the van, but it was too little too late. A quiet pop, audible only to Cindy and Kihn, and the air left one of the car's tires with a whoosh. The next tire was no problem, and the target vehicle was disabled.Dennis accelerated, now speeding openly down the road after the sedan, and withdrew the 9mm auto-pistol with 30 round magazine as he sped down to engage the target on the ground. A branch broke behind Cindy's position, but her concentration was sufficient as she waited for the target to exit the vehicle, and she ignored it, being rewarded for her diligence by the sound of a body falling. Eric would not have been standing. Make that a fourth spam deleted. Finally, the two guards rushed the target from his vehicle, keeping him low, guarding his body with their own. Cindy lacked the shot she needed. It was Dennis' turn now. He was in position, laying forward on the bike across the handlebars, pistol extended in both hands, steering with his elbows on the handlebars. One of the guards turned and fired his own pistol in Dennis' direction, the bullet ricocheting off the pavement short and to his right. He didn't wait for more, firing two shots of his own as he leaned left, putting the sedan between himself and the target as he forced the bike into a side skidding stop, jumping clear before hitting the ground himself. Even so, the change in momentum was too abrupt, and he tumbled on his landing, but recovered quickly. He'd lost a significant amount of mobility, not a good thing, but was confident in his proficiency on foot. The enemy wasn't any more mobile than he, after all. Or were they? Another sedan sped up the street intersecting the target's street, two men leaning out the windows with full auto assault rifles blazing, spraying the van and the area around. Not a good thing for the Owl's brood. Cindy's turn. Into the chamber went a high explosive round, the bolt slammed home with painful slowness, target acquired, the area of the driver's center of mass, indistinct though it was from this angle. No, not with the high explosive round. She shifted slightly, gas tank area, and finished the squeeze on the trigger. A small explosion resulted as the round hit its target, then a secondary explosion. The car careened into the opposite ditch, and Cindy lost her secondary targets. Fire continued from the ditch, however, so she presumed they had survived. That would be Timothy's problem, and indeed, the distinctive sound of an M 60 made itself heard from the driver's side window on the van. The fire from the ditch shifted to respond, before being cut off with the sound of agonized screams from the enemy. Cindy lacked the time to consider the implications of their actions, the lives they would cost, as movement caught her peripheral vision to her right. Eric had gone left. She rolled to her left side, reaching for the pistol on her right hip, but was too late. The man standing there had seen her, brought his sub machine gun around to center on her, put a round high, and was thrown backward by another round. She finished the turn to her back, pointing the 9mm past her feet, to see Eric in a half crouch, having just shot the man with her sub-machine-gun, and another boggy near behind him, shotgun raised. "Eric, go left!" He responded without hesitation, pushing off his right foot and tucking his head and left shoulder into the ground, half rolling, half executing a cartwheel without hands. Just as in training, not waiting for him to respond, Cindy fired through his former position, putting a hold in the middle of the attacker's face. His trigger finger jerked in his death throes, and debris flew up around Cindy, but she was unscathed. Moving now as Eric had incessantly drilled them, Cindy rolled forward onto her feet from her seated position, jogging forward crouched double to where Eric again stood, sweeping the area to her left. She faced to her right, placing her left hand on his right shoulder. She had his back, and he hers, and none could come upon them without one of them knowing. The rifle she had left at their former position, but all the ammunition was on her and Eric, and it was unlikely the enemy would have the 50 caliber rounds used in it. Immediately upon regaining his footing after his tumble, Dennis implemented one of the principles that so often made the difference between the winner and the loser, the living and the dead in the outcome of conflict. He moved, taking the initiative and acting rather than reacting. He dashed to the side of the sedan and threw himself to his belly beneath it, skittering under on toes and left hand, right hand leading with his assault pistol. There was a leg, target of opportunity, and he fired. A man went down with a scream, receiving two more bullets in the torso as it came into view. He skittered forward, putting the engine block between himself and any return fire, and then edged closer to the side on wich the enemy crouched, looking for attackers. There was another foot, and a gun barrel, looking for him. His position known, it would not do to remain. He rolled to his right, the same side the enemy was on, and clearing the side of the vehicle, now in the open, he placed his weight on his left hand, and kicked out with his legs, scissoring the legs of the other guard from beneath him. His feet back on the ground, he launched from them, flying into the fallen body, slamming his elbows down on the man's chest as he landed, probably breaking ribs. It was a wrestling move, but this was no ring, and the pain was not, by any means, faked. "Stay down!" It was Timothy, and Dennis obeyed for a moment, as the M60 erupted on the intersection side to his left, eliciting a cry, quickly cut short, from the guard he'd shot, to his right. He turned his head to look. The man, lying lifeless now on his back, held a backup pistol extended toward Dennis. He'd never had the chance to use it, thanks to Timothy. "Thanks. Let's move." "The target!" "Oh yeah." The man crouched at the side of the road, arms wrapped around his head, clearly petrified by what was occurring, the failure of his men to keep him safe, the life fire surrounding him, the death. Dennis paused for a moment, considering. As a cop, even a SWAT officer, he was to take custody of the suspect. As a soldier his job had been to kill any and all combatants. Now, he was neither, but an agent, a spy, currently on an assignment for assassination. What was the difference? He raised his pistol and fired two shots, killing the man instantly, put another shot into the forehead of the man he'd just knocked to the ground, and giving Timothy a shove, ran toward the van. Their orders were to break contact and exfiltrate ASAP, but there was no way they were going to leave the other two to find their own way out. Dennis took the wheel, accelerated in reverse, spun the wheel and slammed on the breaks, sending the van spinning 180 degrees. Facing back the way Timothy had come, they sped up the road to flank the forces approaching Eric and Cindy. Eric and Cindy moved in concert, one step at a time. They stayed low, stayed to the shadows and the brush, making full use of their Ghillie suits even while crouched. Bullets flew all around them, the fully automatic gunfire intense but sporadic, as the numerous attackers could not determine, with any surety, the location of their targets. Eric and Cindy, for their parts, offered single and three round burst shots in return, hitting targets almost with most of their shots. The enemy was many and bold, and some had fought and killed before, but they'd never met the likes of these targets. None of their victims had been army Special Forces advanced infantry tactical training. None of their victims had been master marksmen or women. None of them had been the ghostly snowy owl, in its element, gliding all but silently from concealment to cover and striking accurately before it could be seen. By the end of three minutes time, twelve unidentified bodies lay dead or nearly so about the wood that had hidden the conflict from outside view, and the worst of the brood's casualties were torn clothes and bruises from where three bullets had impacted Eric's side, being deflected past by the Kevlar vest he wore beneath his cover-alls. Cindy had continued operating through a sprained ankle, it appeared, which she only now noticed. The two crouched in their secondary rendezvous hole, removing the ghillie suits and checking each other and their gear and equipment for damage. A shot was fired on the road behind them, causing a start and a hitting of the deck, and all was silent. "Yo, computer. Y'all wanna keep making out in there till the morality patrol arrives, or you wanna scram?" It was Dennis on the radio. Cindy and Eric grabbed all they could in the way of evidence and rushed, crouched, to the waiting van, jumped in the back, hit the side to signal their presence, and slumped in their seats as it sped forward. Mission accomplished, though not quite as planned. They would deal with the fallout when it fell, but would now deal with the physiological, mental, and emotional refuse that built up during the action. Indeed, Eric found his hands trembling for what must have been the first time in years of combat. He quickly folded them, stuffing each hand under the other arm to hide the fact. Cindy was too busy dealing with her own aftermath to notice. A part of Eric's mind registered Timothy reporting over the radio back to Gray, with an added statement in deference to Eric's Section 1 traditions, to which he'd alluded from time to time in training, "Oh, and mainframe, send housecleaning. Thanks." Return