Emily scanned the horizon again through the scope of her rifle. The landscape in front of her doubtless would have been a delightful scene in different circumstances - all green trees and dense foliage, stretching out as far as the eye could see. That would be the case, if some arsehole down there wasn't trying to kill her.

She was situated on a hillside, wedged between a few rocks and absolutely covered in a pile of leaves, moss, ferns, and other detritus she'd quickly thrown over her to disguise her position. She was getting pretty sick of this jungle fighting bullshit, it had to be said, but at least the terrain made camouflage easier than it would be in a city.

'Solo recon and disruption of enemy forces'. That was her stated mission here, basically a nice, official-sounding term for 'Go fuck around in the jungle for a while, tell us what you see, and if you meet any bad guys, kill them.' It'd been going real great, too, until the PLM had assigned some counter-sniper to 'go hunt the British bitch'.

In hind sight, perhaps spraypainting a Union Jack on the wall behind her last target had been a little much. God save the Queen.

A great crack split the silence, causing a whole host of jungle birds to fly up into the air. Reflexively, Emily swung the rifle around, targeted the source, and fired.

A moment later, a PLM fighter clutching a sniper rifle slumped out of his hiding spot with a hole in his forehead, and Emily burst out of her camouflage in triumph. "Fucking dumbass!" she shouted down the hill at the dead body. "You took a shot at a fucking pillow propped up in a tent! S'the oldest trick in the fucking manual!" She lowered her voice and glanced down at her makeshift firing position. "Well, that was fun."

She sat down again in the pile of leaves, reaching for her canteen and taking a long swig of water. She tapped her foot slightly and glanced around, making a slight 'put-put-put' sound with her mouth. Bored again.

Just then, her earpiece buzzed and an unfamiliar voice broke through - that wasn't a surprise, though. The CP was like a game of musical chairs, it seemed - she had a new handler every damn day. "Long Nine? Do you come in, Long Nine?"

She screwed the cap back onto her canteen and brushed some dirt off her leg. "Yeah, I hear you, Emperor. Killed the guy who was trying to shoot me, in case you were curious."

"Glad to hear it, Long Nine, but there's no time for celebration." As if there ever was. "We've got a new priority mission for you. PLM forces massacred one of our teams in a village near you, the sole survivor is holed up in a WW2 era bunker. You and the other operatives we're sending in have eight hours to evacuate him and eliminate the hostiles before civilians start being executed. Do you copy?"

Emily rolled out the crack in her neck and rose to her knees, quickly folding all her gear into her backpack. "Solid copy, Emperor. I'll head over. Can I get the co-ordinates and the briefing and crap sent to my tablet?"

"You certainly may. We can have air transport pick you up -"

"Too much noise. I'll make my own way." Her gear secured on her back, Emily set off down the hill in the direction of the abandoned house she'd been using as a camp, before the whole business with the counter-sniper had started and she'd had to flee into the forest and cover herself in mud and leaves. The family who'd lived in the house before being uprooted (or more likely killed, really) by the chaos in the region obviously hadn't had much, but they did have a fairly serviceable truck parked in the mud. Emily imagined it had more than enough miles left in it to get her where she was going.

"Have it your way, Long Nine. Happy hunting."

"Always." A few minutes of walking brought Emily to the truck. She tossed her gear into the passenger seat, sat down behind the wheel, adjusted her mirrors and off she went, driving on a dirt road through a hellhole on her way to go kill a bunch of people. At least it was warmer than the places the S.A.S had sent her.

As she drove, she switched her frequency to the channel the field-operatives would be using to co-operate, managing to catch another briefing on the situation from Hunter, the recon operative currently trapped in a WW2-era coffin. "Hello Hunter, this is Long Nine, I'm inbound on your position. I'll be providing overwatch for this little operation - if you know of any tall buildings or watchposts or really anything with a commanding view of the village, I'd love to hear about it, so I can, you know. Climb on top of it and start shooting people."