structure’s foundation was within a ring, it showed damage. Whoever had attacked this place had showered quite a bit of ordnance into a relatively small area.
The battle damage wasn’t a huge surprise. This part of Africa had known little but conflict and war for decades, and it was likely that any town or city would have experienced some level of violence.
“Fifteen meter spread, straight line for one pass,” sounded the command from Bishop’s right. He again relayed the whispered instructions down the line.
When Stoke stood and began walking into the center of the village, the rest of the team joined him, forming a line with weapons at the ready, and heads pivoting right and left.
The place was completely empty – no sign of current, or even recent occupation.
The team regrouped at the far edge of the settlement, Stoke clearly not happy that their search wasn’t over. The leader unfolded a map on the bare earth, the red lens of his flashlight providing illumination. “Now where the hell would they be going? We are 20 miles from anything remotely resembling civilization. Even if his intent were one of these paltry hamlets, there’s a lot easier route than the one we’ve been on.”
Bishop studied the map and pointed, “Aren’t there any structures or homes around this big lake? Back home, people always settle around water.”
Stoke pulled a handful of reconnaissance photos from his satchel, flipping through several before locating the shoreline. One by one, he studied the images, eventually looking up and shaking his head. “There’s one small structure here at the dam. It appears to be some sort of control building or maintenance shed. The lake was created 11 years ago by a United Nations project to keep the valley below us from flooding. The UN hoped to foster more agriculture in the region that had been prone to high water each monsoon season. According to one report I read, the project has been pretty successful both in the output of crops and relocation of displaced persons.”
Bishop checked the photo Stoke was holding, trying to get an image of the place in his mind. “Sir, do you think our target headed to that lake?”
Before Stoke could answer, one of the outward facing sentries hissed, “Movement… grass… west side of the path.”
Only a blink of time passed before the contractors were moving, each man taking a position and reading his weapon. Like a well-drilled sports team, each operator seemed to instinctively sense where he should go. Bishop scurried three steps to a fallen tree, probably a victim of the mortar attack from not so long ago. Going prone behind the cover, his first instinct was to survey the area to verify someone was behind him. The semi-circular perimeter appeared intact.
Scanning to his immediate front with the night vision was the next step. Once he was convinced the threat wasn’t danger-close, he mounted the device in front of the red-dot optic that topped the shotgun. The dot’s tube blocked part of the NVD’s field of view, but Bishop could still affectively aim and scout using the light amplification technology.
The main trail twisting from the village to the lake passed immediately in front of Bishop’s position. The worn path was bordered by waist-high brown grass and the occasional shrub or short tree. That grass is going to be a problem , he thought. It will conceal any threats until they are within a few feet. They can see me, but I can’t see them.
Stoke had taken cover behind the trunk of Bishop’s tree. Only ten feet away, Bishop took a chance and whispered, “This isn’t good, Stoke. This isn’t the place for a fight. Can we pull back into the village?”
“You’re bloody right about that, lad. Pass the word, we’re falling back.”
Before anyone could move, another contractor warned, “Movement… grass… east side of the path.”
The news complicated things, as it appeared there were at least two separate threats, each
The battle damage wasn’t a huge surprise. This part of Africa had known little but conflict and war for decades, and it was likely that any town or city would have experienced some level of violence.
“Fifteen meter spread, straight line for one pass,” sounded the command from Bishop’s right. He again relayed the whispered instructions down the line.
When Stoke stood and began walking into the center of the village, the rest of the team joined him, forming a line with weapons at the ready, and heads pivoting right and left.
The place was completely empty – no sign of current, or even recent occupation.
The team regrouped at the far edge of the settlement, Stoke clearly not happy that their search wasn’t over. The leader unfolded a map on the bare earth, the red lens of his flashlight providing illumination. “Now where the hell would they be going? We are 20 miles from anything remotely resembling civilization. Even if his intent were one of these paltry hamlets, there’s a lot easier route than the one we’ve been on.”
Bishop studied the map and pointed, “Aren’t there any structures or homes around this big lake? Back home, people always settle around water.”
Stoke pulled a handful of reconnaissance photos from his satchel, flipping through several before locating the shoreline. One by one, he studied the images, eventually looking up and shaking his head. “There’s one small structure here at the dam. It appears to be some sort of control building or maintenance shed. The lake was created 11 years ago by a United Nations project to keep the valley below us from flooding. The UN hoped to foster more agriculture in the region that had been prone to high water each monsoon season. According to one report I read, the project has been pretty successful both in the output of crops and relocation of displaced persons.”
Bishop checked the photo Stoke was holding, trying to get an image of the place in his mind. “Sir, do you think our target headed to that lake?”
Before Stoke could answer, one of the outward facing sentries hissed, “Movement… grass… west side of the path.”
Only a blink of time passed before the contractors were moving, each man taking a position and reading his weapon. Like a well-drilled sports team, each operator seemed to instinctively sense where he should go. Bishop scurried three steps to a fallen tree, probably a victim of the mortar attack from not so long ago. Going prone behind the cover, his first instinct was to survey the area to verify someone was behind him. The semi-circular perimeter appeared intact.
Scanning to his immediate front with the night vision was the next step. Once he was convinced the threat wasn’t danger-close, he mounted the device in front of the red-dot optic that topped the shotgun. The dot’s tube blocked part of the NVD’s field of view, but Bishop could still affectively aim and scout using the light amplification technology.
The main trail twisting from the village to the lake passed immediately in front of Bishop’s position. The worn path was bordered by waist-high brown grass and the occasional shrub or short tree. That grass is going to be a problem , he thought. It will conceal any threats until they are within a few feet. They can see me, but I can’t see them.
Stoke had taken cover behind the trunk of Bishop’s tree. Only ten feet away, Bishop took a chance and whispered, “This isn’t good, Stoke. This isn’t the place for a fight. Can we pull back into the village?”
“You’re bloody right about that, lad. Pass the word, we’re falling back.”
Before anyone could move, another contractor warned, “Movement… grass… east side of the path.”
The news complicated things, as it appeared there were at least two separate threats, each
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