One Seven

The sun shines so bright it’s almost blinding peering out from the shaded loft Adam is perched in. He stares steadily, as he has for the last several hours, through his rifle scope at a set of large wooden double doors gracing the front of a very nice looking hotel. He lifts his head and looks out over the maze of rooftops under a vibrant blue sky. Off to his left he can hear the rifle reports from his fellow troops who have feathered into the city as they confront their opposition. Every once in a while there’s a large rolling boom from the mortars as they attempt to blindly shell the advancing troops. Adam takes a second to double check the calculations in his note book.

“You said one two four seven, Devin?” He asks his spotter.

“Yep,” Devin confirms, staring out through his rangefinder. “Is that him?”

“I can’t tell. Give me a second.” Adam says, taking up his rifle and regaining his target.

“That’s him.” Devin insists. Adam finally lines up his sight on the head of a short grey haired man exiting the building.

“Yeah, that’s definitely him. Let’s rock.” Adam confirms, a little surprised at how much the target actually looks like the photograph.
Usually they have to hunt for some kind of scar or telltale characteristic, but there’s no denying this one.

“Mother, this is One Seven. We have visual confirmation on Alpha. Requesting permission to execute?” Devin radio’s in. After a second he continues, “Fire… Fire… Fire.”

Adam squeezes the trigger. The rifle barks and kicks. A split second later he watches a pink puff appear and dissipate behind the head of the target as he falls lifelessly to the ground.

“Tango down.” Devin confirms over the radio, “Looks like we win again.”