Chris tumbled down the slope as bullets struck all around him. Thanks to the continuous incline, there was little friction to slow him down, and he descended rapidly.
After missing two shots, the sniper recalibrated his aim, but just then, Chris disappeared from view—he had slid all the way to the bottom.
The thick, dead vines obscured visibility. Chris shielded his face as he rolled, finally landing at the base of the dam, which had long since been abandoned and was now overrun with vegetation. Even in winter, the undergrowth was dense and tangled.
As soon as he landed, Chris began running frantically through the vines, causing them to shake wildly. Sasha, observing from above, couldn't see Chris but could gauge his general direction by the movement. He took two blind shots, estimating where Chris might be.
The shots landed just inches from Chris, sending a chill down his spine and halting him abruptly. That moment of stillness helped him realize something: he couldn't see the top, which meant the sniper probably couldn't see him either. Chris began moving stealthily, threading his way through the undergrowth.
Sasha frowned. Either the two shots had hit the target, or the target had gone into hiding. He peered through his sniper scope, trying to spot movement below, but the thick, dead vines obscured everything. He fired two more speculative shots, but nothing stirred below.
Neither man could see the other, and a silent standoff ensued. But Sasha, cautious by nature, refused to assume he had scored a hit. He remained in position, ready to fire at the slightest movement.
Below, Chris crept forward inch by inch like a man underwater. Before long, he had moved quite a distance without making a sound. Sasha remained clueless, occasionally firing blind, relying on nothing but instinct.
After more than twenty minutes, Sasha began descending along the slope. He had to go down and confirm the kill himself. But by now, Chris had already gone far.
Boole was dead. The only one who knew the terrain well was gone. Chris lay on the ground, thinking hard. He had no idea how to escape Bosmia, let alone with a persistent sniper on his tail. The coordinates he'd heard over the public radio suddenly seemed like his only hope. Gritting his teeth, Chris decided to head there, trap or not.
…
Back on the hillside, the guerrilla fighters were busy. The anti-personnel mines had been completely laid out, and most of the anti-tank mines were now in place. Ghost and Heartbeat were mounting Claymores on the opposite side of the forest. Owen checked his watch—forty minutes had passed since his first public broadcast. He had no idea whether Chris had received it, or whether Chris or Borbon's forces would arrive first.
Swag and Fred were on overwatch duty, positioned at a high point with a clear view of the surrounding area, serving as Omega's snipers. Bayev was briefing the guerrilla commander on their next moves in detail.
Soon, all the mines were planted. Owen began distributing weapons to the guerrillas. The crates they had looted from the munitions depot were already open. The boxes of mines were empty; the rest contained small arms and explosives.
The guerrillas lined up to receive weapons from Omega in assembly-line fashion. One man would collect a brand-new AKM rifle from Heartbeat, then move to Bayev to receive two magazines, and finally to Ghost, who issued each man a hand grenade.
There was nothing more exciting to these guerrillas than getting new weapons. The rifles were all AKMs—brand new, still slick with gun oil.
These fighters were already familiar with AKs. Many immediately moved aside to familiarize themselves with the new weapons. Once everyone had had some time, Owen clapped his hands and called them together. Looking over the forty-odd guerrilla fighters, he called out, "Anyone here who's a good shot, stand over here."
The men looked at each other, confused about what Owen was up to. But soon enough, someone stepped forward—it was Herman.
With one example, the rest followed. Several known sharpshooters joined Herman's side.
Owen continued, "Anyone here ever use an RPG?"
A few more hands went up. Owen nodded and had them step to the other side. Sensing that the number was a bit low, he turned to Bayev. "Night Owl, pick a few more. Train them on RPG usage."
Bayev acknowledged the order, assembled a group of ten, and began training them in a nearby clearing. Though RPGs were simple to use, there were still tricks to using them effectively, and proper technique was always better than going in blind.
Meanwhile, Ghost began giving the remaining fighters a quick rundown on battlefield survival and engagement tactics. Time ticked by, and everything was falling into place—only the enemy was missing.
The forest fell into a hush. Not a sound could be heard. The snow-covered ground looked pristine, as if no one had ever set foot there. The guerrillas were silently hidden in their positions. The mined areas were carefully covered in snow. From the surface, there was no way to tell anything was off—only by stepping on it would the truth be revealed.
"Unidentified individual spotted at 2 o'clock, approaching…" Swag's voice came quietly through the earpiece. A figure moved stealthily through the forest, pausing now and then to look around. The person was always within Swag's scope, though the poor lighting made it hard to see clearly.
Omega's team turned their attention toward the figure at 2 o'clock. Soon, they too spotted the man weaving through the trees.
Swag's scope remained fixed on the figure. As the man drew closer, his clothing and features became clear—familiar uniform, the American flag patch on his chest, and the same face from the photo.
"Target confirmed. It's our pilot."
"Guide him in…"
Owen issued the command over comms. The snipers received the order, and Fred picked up his radio. Switching to the public channel, he broadcast: "Lieutenant Chris, we have eyes on you. Please follow our markers to rejoin the team. Be advised—proceed with caution. Code R43."
Chris, hidden in the forest, jumped at the sudden radio transmission. He looked around but saw no one. A moment later, he steadied himself.
R43 was a U.S. military code used during the Bosmia conflict, specifically referring to the presence of landmines. The message was clear—they were warning him about minefields.
Now aware of the mines, Chris froze. Soon, he spotted the guidance mentioned in the radio transmission.
A red dot appeared on the ground—likely from a laser pointer. Chris understood: the red dot marked a safe path. Everything else could be mined.
______
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