Jimbo simply hated winter. There was no doubting it, both in a personal and practical sense. Snowstorm’s were a sniper’s nightmare and a blizzard was a inexorable labyrinth for a bullet to pass through. It obscured his vision and turned his balls into two giant ice cubes. However, the snow was starting to melt and the Mid-West winter had become charitable to their efforts today. It was clear. There was little to no snowfall in the air. 

He couldn’t help but grin when he heard that command over the radio. He cheerfully replied back, his heart pounding relentlessly and excitedly like a drum in his head as he pressed his eye to the scope. 

“ Copy that, Lancaster.” 

He thumbed the trigger as he adjusted his scope for the best resolution on the encroaching targets, waiting for Lukas to sight out the ADVENT patrols as he began to run through the motions. A silencer was unnecessary given that the sound would dissipate across the wide valley and the muzzle flash wouldn’t be that noticeable from this high a elevation. He didn’t even need Lukas to confirm his targets. He could see them even without his scope, in the distance. Their black-matter bulky armor was horribly unsuited for patrolling through the forest, their forms visible in the evergreen pines. He spoke through the radio, a slight hint of joy betraying his professional demeanour.
 
“ Two contacts. 300 meters out and bearing south-west 35 degrees from my position. Outside of black-site and 50 meters south of supply base. Proceeding to engage.” 

He then stilled his breath, his heartbeat slowing to a near standstill and his mind in a perfect moment of zen. He quieted everything in his brain, the thoughts of coffee, the thoughts of getting vengeance on ADVENT, the smell of wet grass mixed with snow and Lukas’s tobacco-ridden mouth . It was all about the target. Discipline. Silence. Conviction. His breathing became like clock-work, one every five seconds.   He zeroed in on them. The two of them were walking side by side, boxy electromagnetic rifles in their hands while they were conversing with each other about something. One of them looked young. Energetic. The other was clearly an older person, a few inches over the other one. Was he berating the other about their lack of military discipline? A lecture? A friendly conversation about the wonders of the ADVENT regime? 

Why was he trying to do? He couldn’t give two bloody shits about the lives of ADVENT bogans. His reticle blotted out the target’s head, as he angled his rifle a little to the front but not to much to compensate for their movement. He waited for the moment when they were under the shadowed cloak of the supply base, shrouding their bodies  from the spotlight. 

“ Taking the shot.” 

He fired twice. The 338 Lapua Magnum was a beautiful calibre. Fast and deadly without needing a hernia like the 50 calibre’s that were once popular at HQ. It escaped from the barrel with a fractured splitting crack that travelled and rolled all over the valley without echoing back.  The soldier furthest from the fence. Less chance of escaping to cover and less effort needed to re-adjust his target. His first target’s head splintered apart, his body wobbling for a moment like a cracked egg before he hit the ground dead. The ADVENT trooper reached for his radio, shaking his head around as military discipline kicked in and took over his body, looking for the best place to take cover. Unfortunately for him, Jimbo took the opportunity to reload and fire once more. It tore in the space between their mouth and chest, hand trying to staunch the flow of blood as if he was trying to clog a waterfall. Jimbo watched as the ADVENT trooper’s skin turned paper white, hand dropping from his shredded neck as he landed face-first into the ground.

Dead.

Good. 

He ejected the hot bullet before radioing in confirmation of their deaths.
“ Tangoes down.” 

[i]Take that, you wankers. 
[/i]
Jimbo then took a moment to observe his surroundings through the scope. The alarm wasn’t activated. Good. He then heard a soft rumbling in the distance to his right. He looked up before noticing twin spotlights arriving on the road. It was a supply truck. He pressed two fingers to his helmet, frantically speaking through the radio. 

“ Lancaster, be advised. There’s a supply truck heading down towards the Blacksite now. ETA is about 25 minutes. You need to secure those supplies right now.”