Sak · Maps

Escape 01:08 Trust:Entrant

01.25.09 18:52
Section: Maps
Filed Under: Copyright - CC, Series

We had spent such a good portion of the day getting across town that by the time we had found the resupply unit it was already approaching early evening. The sun had moved over toward Magnolia, and would melt into the Olympic mountain range within a couple hours. My mind wandered off into those mountains as I thought of my librarian friend, and her hiking and snow-shoeing adventures. I hadn’t expected it to take us so long, but then I realized that we had been winding around considerably, dodging other people, taking side tracks through alleys and between houses to remain under some semblance of cover. I even felt a little guilty as we looked out across the meadow toward the resupply unit as it was being fished out of the lake by a rather menacing looking tactical raiment; as though it were somewhat my fault for not getting to it first. Damn my meandering ways; mind, body, and apparently now even my very soul. We now faced a bit of a challenge since that supply unit contained food, water, and other necessities that we would need in order to make it to the eastern foothills. After a brief assessment of the situation I had come up with a knee-jerk plan, though, and my gut told me it would work.

It wasn’t the best plan, but I was hungry and emotional, and I didn’t care much that the success of this plan hinged on whether or not I could accurately fire Mitchell’s massive sniper rifle. As I unpacked the rifle, I knew that everything would have to happen quickly and perfectly, or else I’d probably end up dead. A jet roared overhead, skimming the treetops, so I suspected that the tactical raiment we were up against had already radioed in that we might be near and they were starting a search. I put myself down into a prone position, settling in with the rifle, and spent a minute just looking around down range. “I figure about two-fifty or three hundred yards?” I said.

“The raiment is two hundred and ninety-four yards from your position,” Samara said.

“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking. You’ll need to try and sneak down along the tree line, and use those other trees as cover. Then you can fire on the troops to keep them busy while you move in and grab the supplies, and I’ll distract the raiment.”

“I told you, I won’t last against that tactical raiment,” she said, and I could hear a nervousness growing in her voice, “and once you start firing that thing, they’ll zero in on your location and just call in a strike.”

“Well, if I’m right about this thing, they won’t have a chance.”

“And if you’re not right?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time, and I’m certain it won’t be the last.”

“Great. I don’t know if I like your plan.”

“Well, we don’t have any other option, do we? I think if we hit them fast and hard, they won’t know what’s happening and we can make off with the goods. We’ll get them in a crossfire. If it doesn’t work out, and we have to run, we run. We can figure out something else later.” I could hear her making her way out of the bushes, heading away from me.

I sighted in down range for a several minutes as Samara slowly made her way into position. The troops were wandering around, surveying the area. The tactical raiment had remained stationary, standing guard over the resupply unit, which looked a lot like a car-top carrier. The tactical raiment was impressive, far beyond what Samara was driving around in. She’d explained that her raiment was for scouting and reconnaissance, so there was a notable difference between the two types. The tactical had a lot of the same general features as Samara’s raiment, but it was considerably more bulky and, from what I could tell, looked taller by a few feet. It had the same swiveling sphere for a head, and two little appendages sticking out from the chest, but both of the robotic arms were laden with massive firepower. The left arm ended in a mini-cannon, with some sort of belt-fed system that linked to a voluminous looking box structure on its back. The right arm had a manipulating hand, but also a large barrel that hung off the side of the forearm; the muzzle of which looked similar to the one on the rifle I was currently snuggled up against. There was also a strange looking canister hanging off the back, near the right shoulder. Studying it a little more, I suspected that the canister contained a rocket launcher of some sort, and could swivel into place up onto the shoulder to be fired, as it rested on a little set of tracks. It probably needed to stay in this rear position so that the raiment could see a full three hundred and sixty degrees unimpaired, moving into firing position only as needed. My hope was that it wouldn’t move into firing position.

I rummaged around in the case and pulled out two other magazines loaded with ammunition for the sniper rifle. Each magazine contained ten rounds, but one had been loaded with ammunition that had colored tips; green and silver. I popped out the magazine that was currently in the rifle, and it contained standard looking ball rounds. I suspected that the green tipped ammo were something unique, like perhaps armor piercing—since tracer rounds would have been mixed with a more standard round, and likely wouldn’t even exist for a weapon like this—and wondered why Mitchell would have them in the first place. Deciding to take a gamble, I inserted the colored tipped ammunition magazine into the rifle. They weren’t blanks, I knew that much, so at least whatever went down range it would hit the target with the impact of a fifty caliber round.

“Okay, I’m here,” Samara’s voice whispered into my ear, the sound of her voice came into me as though some non-corporeal entity hovering over my shoulder. Even though I could tell she was nervous about the plan, her voice had become soothing to me throughout the day. “I’m at the large clump of trees to your southeast, about a hundred and ten yards from them.”

I settled back into the rifle, and panned over the tree line. She’d apparently managed to cross a little opening without being detected, and I could see the trees where she hid, though I couldn’t make her out at all.

Now I had a choice to make: where to place the first shot, or whether to just pump ten rounds into the tactical raiment and hope that I did some good. The armament on the tactical made sense. It seemed designed as though it were a walking set of crew served weapons systems. Likely, most effective against a lot of troops, but matched fairly equally against another of its kind. The mini-gun could lay down thousands of rounds a minute for suppression. The little rocket launcher probably didn’t have any more sock to it than a grenade launcher; still, dangerous enough. It was the barrel hanging off the right forearm that actually gave me hope. If the tactical raiment were lugging around something that could punch through armor, then it was equally threatened by the same. So I had an advantage, in a certain sense, in that if I managed to get a few lucky shots through the raiment’s armor I could feasibly shut it down. Carrying on with this thought, I had to assume that the armor for the raiment was likely more considerable in the chest area, protecting the driver. So scanning over the raiment’s body again, I wagered the best place to try and put a couple rounds would be the space between where the little appendages came out of the armor and the armpits of the big arms. The molded shape of the chest piece was such that its thickness curved up and above the little arms, and met at the primary shoulders, then looped under the armpits around to the backside. All of this left me with an area of about six by ten inches that thinned out as it led to the armpit, a shape very similar to what you’d see on the side of an athletic shoe. The outline of this shape appeared to form a seam in the armor plating, and looked the weakest. That is, if the arm didn’t get in the way.

“Okay, I’ve got my sweet spot,” I said.

I settled in with the rifle again, my legs spread out behind me, and tried to relax. Glancing over the scope, I saw some trees moving slightly to the east, so I looked down at the sighting to see about how I might compensate. Considering the power of the rifle, though, and that I only had to clear a few hundred yards, I doubted that I’d need to monkey around with the scope to get an accurate shot off; good old Kentucky windage would have to do. Resting my head into the stock, I watched the raiment through the scope for some time, focusing on my breathing, sighting in on my target area, and waiting for the right moment. Adrenaline kept me awake and in an unusual state that I had never quite experienced before. I’d been exhausted, and hungry, and afraid, but never like this. The rhythm of my breathing brought a strange ringing in my ears like what you get from yawning, but lasting. It was the anxiety, the struggle to remain patient through that fatigue, and I suddenly, deeply admired all that I’d heard of what Marine snipers go through, and why that endless training was so necessary. A breeze came to dance with the leaves of the bushes and tickled my arms and neck, merging with my breathing and the continual ringing sensation. After what felt like an eternity, everything drew silent, and the tactical raiment shifted to face me at an angle, dropping its left arm. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and squeezed.

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This is a work of fiction. None of the characters are real, including myself. Any similarities between what is depicted in the story and what exists in the real world are intentional coincidences.

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