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Novelo Rectangle

Deep in the Gora Chimtarga mountains of Tajikistan, a private military sniper team had set up in a position overlooking a long valley. Their exact mission details were classified. They were, however, aware that they were there to oversee an exchange between militia groups. Amongst one group of militia was a friendly informant that the sniper team were there to recover should the exchange go wrong. As the sun began to fade it shone with a thick orange glow, which cast long shadows of the various rocks and shrubs that littered the ground of the clearing. The sniper team were zeroed in on a patch of dirt road a few hundred yards away, where the exchange was due to take place. 	The two young men of the sniper team were both in their mid-twenties, wearing black-and-white urban camouflage uniforms that were well suited to the snowy peaks of the mountains above them. Their legs were covered by thin metal plates that hid the hydraulic mechanisms of exoskeleton suits. Call sign Zero was the leader of this operation; he lay flat on his back with his combat helmet and assault rifle lying beside him. His hair was a ghostly white that made him look much older than the young man actually was. Beside him was Sharpe, the shooter of the team, who lay very still with a crystal-blue eye staring down the scope of his sniper rifle. Zero held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. 	“I thought albinos weren’t supposed to sit in the sunlight for too long,” Sharpe croaked in a low, lazy voice that carried with it a thick and clear English accent.	Zero rolled over and tapped the rim of Sharpe’s boonie hat in an attempt to get on his nerves. Sharpe didn’t so much as flinch or even blink in a deliberate move to deny his friend the satisfaction. 	“I’m not a fucking albino. Besides ya’ll are paler than me!” Zero retorted with a strong Texan accent. 	Sharpe didn’t respond. He continued staring down the sight of his weapon and slowly reached up for his scope to make a very slight adjustment. 	“What’s the distance to the target, four hundred?” 	“Five,” Sharpe croaked. 	“Think you can make the shot from here?” Zero teased. His taunt hit a nerve with Sharpe, setting him off into a rant Zero had heard several times before.	“This is a custom-made SR-25 sniper rifle, I’ve spent years perfecting its design, swapping out springs, barrels and sights to create the perfect long-range weapon, not to mention since we’ve been lying here I’ve made all of the calculations to land aimed shots from here to five hundred yards from the target zone. With this rifle, and this data, I can hit a man-sized target in the chest at one kilometre.”	“Yep and that is exactly why ya’ll don’t have a girlfriend.” 	Zero gave Sharpe a wide grin as the sniper glanced over at him for just a second before returning to his scope. 	“Look, I get that you’d much rather be somewhere a little more interesting but can you please stay focused.” 	“Yeah, sorry.” 	Zero looked down at his unsteady hands and took a long breath before he spoke again. 	“Why are we even out here, man? Why do our countries have a stake out here? These people were fine long before the West came into the picture and now they’re sandwiched between us, the Russians and the Chinese. So many lives ruined and for what?” Zero spat on the ground. 	“Oil,” mumbled Sharpe. “And we’re out here for three times the wage of the average US soldier.”	The clearing below them suddenly came to life. A shiny black SUV with tinted black windows rolled in from behind the sniper team’s position, kicking up the dust as it went. 	“What’s the chances of that thing having armour?” Zero mockingly questioned as he slid back down into cover, grabbing his rifle in the process. 	“About as likely as my shot bouncing off, if it does,” Sharpe murmured as he shifted his aim to the SUV.	“Fuck’s sake.”	The vehicle entered the clearing, pulling to a halt five hundred yards away. The two front doors opened; the driver and another man exited the vehicle. Each of the men were dressed in a green uniform with a tan bulletproof vest. The passenger produced a gleaming Kalashnikov assault rifle. The two men then moved to the front of the car. 	“That’s a little bit high-tech for them isn’t it?” Zero pointed out. “These guys must be on some heavy-duty payroll – that car isn’t standard issue.”	The two men stood patiently by their SUV for a few minutes. One man took the opportunity to light up a cigarette, neither of them aware of the crosshairs hovering over their heads. Zero put one hand to his ear, activating the radio hidden inside.	“This is Whisky Oscar One, we have Yankee Two in range, no sign of Yankee One, over.” 	Zero’s radio crackled into life as a female voice with an English accent belonging to Operator ‘Sam’ came through clearly.	“Whisky Oscar One, this is Whisky Oscar Two; be advised Yankee One has entered the field.” 	As she finished her sentence a second vehicle entered the valley, this time from ahead of the sniper team’s position. This one was a dirty white sedan that screeched through the valley kicking up dust and dirt into a thin cloud that followed the car. The sedan slid to a halt twenty yards from the first group. Three men exited the car, moving fast, frantically yelling to the two from the first car, waving Kalashnikovs. They moved round to the back of the sedan, opening the boot and pulling out a badly beaten fourth man in a blood-soaked white shirt.	“Shit, that’s our guy!” Zero cursed. 	The beaten informant was thrown to the ground in front of the first two men. The leader of the trio began to angrily converse with the two men waving a large silver handgun around in the air. Zero raised his voice as he spoke into his mic again.	“All teams mission critical, they’re about to execute our man. Sam, I need you to reposition and prepare to engage on my mark. Wolfman, when we hit them, I need you to get down there and grab our guy. We shoot first and ask questions later. I’ll take the heat from Big B.” 	Zero was greeted with an assortment of affirmatives from the other members of the team. 	“No time, Zero, they’re going to execute him now,” Sharpe croaked. 	Sharpe levelled his sights over the leader who was pressing the silver handgun into the back of the informant’s head. The other team members weren’t in position. The informant was crying on his knees begging for his life. 	Wolfman, another private military soldier, had positioned himself amongst the rocks just a hundred yards from the exchange. Wolfman slowly and cautiously levelled his own assault rifle at the chest of the executioner. The younger Spanish soldier’s less experienced hands trembled as adrenalin began to flood his system. 	The informant cried out as the leader of the second militia group started to squeeze the trigger. The handgun clicked. The informant screamed as he fell to the floor and the executioner stepped back, trying to pull back the slide and clear the jam. Zero looked over to Sharpe. 	“Send it.” 	Sharpe exhaled; he slowly squeezed the trigger of his rifle. A 7.62mm bullet left Sharpe’s rifle and disintegrated the left eye of the executioner as the man turned back to finish the informant. The back of the executioner’s skull exploded as the bullet tore clean through his head. Before the other militiamen could realise what was happening a second shot tore into the chest of one of the leader’s guards. Wolfman opened fire as well, firing his weapon on single-shot mode with expert precision. He put two rounds into the third uniformed guard and then began firing at the last two men, who started running for cover. The informant scrambled behind the SUV while the two remaining men were finished by a combination of rifle fire. Wolfman raced across the open ground to the SUV. He moved so fast he had to dig the heels of his boots into the ground before he slammed into the side of the vehicle. He held his rifle in one hand and used the other to slam the informant against the SUV. 	“Star!” Wolfman yelled. 	The informant, however, kept snivelling and crying. Wolfman released his grip and took hold of his rifle with both hands, keeping the barrel at the head of the informant. 	“Star or I will shoot!” 	The informant managed to stutter out the word. 	“T-Texas.” 	Wolfman lowered his weapon and checked the frightened man over. Zero let out a sigh of relief before patting Sharpe on the back a couple of times.	“Remind me to never doubt you again!” 	Suddenly Zero’s earpiece crackled into life as Sam’s voice came through again. 	“Boys, get out of there, we’ve got technicals incoming.” 	Two civilian pickup trucks fitted with long fifty-calibre machine guns raced into the valley. From two thousand yards away, they opened fire. Too far away to be accurate, the rounds impacted the ground around the SUV that Wolfman was hiding behind. Zero looked over at Sharpe and extended his arms as if to say do something. 	“Out of range,” Sharpe coldly answered. 	Sharpe still didn’t flinch from the rifle’s scope. He once again made an adjustment and shifted his aim slightly higher. Zero reattached his rifle to his sling and started rapidly making his way down the hill, cursing loudly with every step.	“Big B, we’re in trouble, enemy armour closing on our position! Requesting immediate exfiltration!” Zero barked the words into his microphone but received no answer. 	Zero reached the bottom of the valley and took aim. The truck was still out of range, leaving his weapon useless. Bullets from the trucks snapped at the air around his head and tore into the rocks of the cliff behind him. Zero dropped to his belly and returned fire, in a desperate attempt to suppress his enemy. Wolfman tried to run to him but another burst of gunfire forced him back into cover behind the SUV. The technicals closed to nine hundred yards of the exchange, which was also the precise point Sharpe had set his sights on. A volley of high-velocity rifle rounds slammed into the windshield of the first vehicle, one hitting the driver in the chest. He slumped down onto the wheel, forcing the truck into a sharp turn. The move was too fast, the vehicle violently flipped over, crushing the gunner as it rolled to the side of the road. The second vehicle hit the brakes hard, skidding to a halt just ahead of the first, leaving the crew an easy shot for the overlooking sniper. Sharpe delivered the remainder of his twenty-round magazine into the gunner, who felt the impact of a sledgehammer against his chest as a pink mist of blood and bone filled the air. 	The driver attempted to leave the truck but took a round to the face sending fragments of bloody skull and teeth across the hood of his machine. Zero ran over to Wolfman and the informant, checking the two men were okay. Sharpe reached the bottom of the hill shortly after, his exo-suit allowing him to clear the distance to his comrades with immense speed. He dropped to his knees beside the SUV and expertly swapped his empty magazine for a new one. 	“So that’s why they call you Sharpe, then!” Wolfman exclaimed with a wide grin. 	Sharpe smiled back, his voice taking a slightly more upbeat tone as he spoke to the newest member of the team. 	“Don’t thank me too much, if they had known how to shoot you’d all be dead.” Sharpe looked back past the two machines. There were two more technicals as well as three large trucks now driving into the valley.	“We need to go, can he walk?” 	Wolfman looked down at the wounded informant, then back to Sharpe and shook his head. Zero cursed under his breath. He ran around to the front of the SUV. The engine was shredded. Fifty-calibre rounds were originally designed to destroy tanks. Even at this range the SUV’s armour did little to stop the shots. 	“Contact rear!” Wolfman shouted. 	The three soldiers spun their weapons around as two urban-camouflage Humvees screeched to a halt behind them. The doors flew open allowing three older soldiers wearing the same uniform to exit. The squad’s leader rushed over to Zero. Big B, more commonly referred to as ‘Boss’, was an ageing ex-Navy SEAL. His hair had lost almost all of its colour and his face was covered by thick stubble. He held an AR-15 in his hands and wore no headgear. His voice was low and commanding when he spoke. 	“Get inside now,” he barked. 	The soldiers raced into the Humvees, piling themselves into any free space they could find. Zero emptied his rifle’s magazine as the vehicles pulled away. The rounds didn’t seem to have any effect on the oncoming forces but it made him feel a little better.	Zero and Sharpe were sitting in the back seat; they’d left their doors open allowing the second sniper team to jump in a few yards down the road. Sam, an athletically built woman in her late twenties, jumped into Sharpe’s lap with a smile. Her blonde hair was cut short with a few lines shaved into the side for decoration. 	“Hey, big boy,” she said, raising her eyebrows. 	Sharpe pushed her over to the middle seat while her spotter, a young man of about the same age, jumped onto the side of the truck using the door as cover. Call sign Sev was of Russian origin with a shaved head and a red cross on his arm showing he was the team’s field medic. The two jeeps beat a hasty retreat, now satisfied they had everyone on board. The Humvees tore up the dirt of the road as their powerful engines easily opened the distance between them and the carnage left in the valley. 	&nbsp;***	&nbsp;Sons of Odin Headquarters, Texas Sons of Odin was a private military contracting agency that had made great strides for itself over the last ten years having been established in 2017 by a wounded Navy SEAL. Austin D. Spencer sat in his favourite room in the building. It was a mission briefing area that he often used as his office, claiming he didn’t enjoy the cramped space with his name above the door. The room had been nicknamed the Roundtable thanks to the large circular table that sat in the centre. Behind it stood a large projection screen. Austin himself was in his late fifties; he was sporting a slimming grey suit and walked with a cane. He sat at the far side of the table sipping brandy from a lead crystal tumbler. At the opposite end of the table sat Boss with his feet up fidgeting with a similar glass. Boss had traded his urban camouflage for a smarter black uniform, this time devoid of the exo-suit and weapons. At the far end of the room a blank steel door opened and Zero, the silver-haired soldier from the previous mission, stepped through the opening, closing the door behind him. Like Boss he too was wearing the same sleek black uniform now. His hair had been cut shorter to more of a soldier’s length. Zero did his best to keep eye contact with Austin, his father. 	“Zach, sit down, we have some things to discuss,” Austin instructed. 	Zero took a seat beside Boss, making an effort to sit up straight. 	“The mission I gave you was not easy, son, I’m sure you know this was deliberate. Like any military operation things went wrong and you very nearly lost an HVT and endangered the lives of your team and yourself through your actions. This is not ideal behaviour for an operator of your calibre.” 	Boss took over. 	“The positioning was good, you were able to cover the exchange point nicely and were even able to sneak Wolfman close enough to the target to apprehend our man. However, you did not account for hostile reinforcements or cover their potential entry points. You screwed up and people could have died because of that.” 	The two old soldiers looked to Zero awaiting his answer. Zero got back to his feet, stepping away from Boss. 	“Yes, sirs, I am aware of my mistake. I would like to include however that I set the design for this run as a snatch-and-dash mission. We eliminated the threat on the ground, acquired the target and Sharpe was able to eliminate the enemy reinforcements before they could inflict any casualties on our team.” 	Austin and Boss looked at each other. Austin spoke again this time with more authority and anger in his voice. 	“Regardless of this, Zach, people nearly died because of you. Had Boss not been operating so close to bail you out, you would have had no exfiltration. In fact, you didn’t have an exfiltration plan in your report so had the target been incapacitated, your team would have lost combat efficacy. Had you been dealing with an organised military instead of a few militia, your plan would never have succeeded. The mission would have failed. And their blood, assuming you made it out alive, would have been on your hands. Not only that but a large portion of the operation depended highly on the marksmanship of a single man!” 	Zero lost his temper. He slammed a fist into the table and spoke louder, almost shouting at his commander. 	“Actually, Dad, I analysed the combat effectiveness of the militia before we started. I looked at their potential inventory and was well aware we were not dealing with an organised military. I took a calculated risk, which last I checked ended with our informant alive along with my full team heading back home without a single scratch.”	Zero recomposed himself. He retracted his hand and leant back in his seat knowing he had overstepped the line. Boss had moved one hand over his mouth to hide his smile, having now realised something regarding Zero’s plan.	“Zero, how exactly did you plan on getting out of there?” Boss finally asked. 	The young man looked over to the Boss with a slight smile. 	“It was established in the mission briefing that Boss and a small team were standing by to pick us up should anything go wrong. It made much more sense to me to use them as the extraction force should anything go wrong, that way minimising potential casualties and resources in use for this operation. I of course ran my team through this plan and they all agreed it was a wise course of action.”	Boss and Austin shared a quick glance. 	“Why didn’t you think to mention this to us before the mission’s start? What if Boss’s team were based further back than you calculated?” Austin questioned even though he already knew the answer. 	Zero gave him a quick grin. 	“Because I know you, Father, and I knew you’d have the Boss close at hand in case something went wrong.”&nbsp;

Limbo: The Door Above the Lake

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Robert Brian Smith

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