OOC:

Crest
P4 Sniper
Interim Story

Crest’s head moved ever so slightly to the beat of the music pounding in his helmet. He brought his hand in front of his eyes and silently flexed it. The inferior scout armor conformed easily to the movements. A gentle sigh escaped Crest’s lips, accurately summing up his disappointment of scout armor. The stream of data from the SCOPE armor that usually immersed Crest was heavily choked in the scout armor. It lacked the sheer sophistication of the SCOPE armor, and Crest felt... vulnerable. Yet, he was a sniper-in-training, and the lack of close-range data would not affect him too much.

Unless a bear sneaks up on you. Or a snake. Or a-- Stop. It won’t happen. It will not happen. Ever. And if it does, the animal will soon be missing a brain... and a life.

His pounding foot involuntary signaled his impatience to have a goal, an objective, something to shoot, or anything for that matter, just not this nothingness, this idiotic flowing of wasted time.

The LAAT/i suddenly hit a small pocket of air and dropped about half of a meter. Crest instinctively secured his TI-47 Deathwind sniper rifle, the weapon that made him effective on the field and kept him alive.

“1 minute to ground!”

Smiling at the prospect of doing something, Crest opened the packet of information on his mission. He gave a brief scan to the terrain, noting his place of deployment, a mountain that overlooked the plains and provided an excellent sniping area.

Crest slipped the map into a pouch on his belt. He then pulled out his set of instructions. It read:

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Training Exercise: Decommission an enemy commander
File Number: 9012304
Area: Training 93
Executor: Corporal Crest
Opposing forces: 86th and 94th Platoons
Training Regime: Sniper
Summary:

In Training Area 93, the executor will find a main camp. Within the main camp, there is a commander that the executor is to shoot. The executor will be issued a single round. The executor will identify him in the following ways:

1. The commander’s tent is marked with a red star on both flaps on the northern side.

2. He will receive exactly five (5) visitors at his tent in between ten minutes and twenty minutes after the hour.
    2a. These visitors will start inside the fourth ring, will proceed directly to his tent, and will not stop to talk to anyone before talking to him.

3. The commander will be wearing a black helmet with a gold trim.

4. The commander does not proceed out of the innermost ring of checkpoints.

The executor must assassinate the commander in such a way that a considerable amount of time be given before the commander is discovered (in practical, this time would be used to mobilize a full-out assault on the camp).

Note: This paper may NOT be taken along with the executor during the course of the mission. Doing so will invalidate the mission and will cause course failure. The executor will only be able to retake the course should he be given a special panel’s approval.
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Could they have lain off with the implied threats? Come on, a person is already half-scared with the start of any mission.

Crest sighed and gently placed the paper back into its spot inside the box. He placed the lone round he had been issued in a pouch on his belt.

“Touchdown in ten seconds!”

Crest pushed himself to his feet and waited for the LAAT/i to hit dirt. A flick by Crest silenced the pounding music.

“Five... four... three... two... one...Go!”

As the pilot’s countdown ended, the door slammed open, and Crest leaped out and planted his feet on to the grass. For once, the trainers had dropped him exactly where he needed to be. The small alcove had the mountain to its back and a ring of rocks about knee-high around the open edges. Stretching slightly to destroy the stiffness that had accumulated on the shuttle ride, Crest walked to the ring and chose a spot to put his sniper rifle down, a slight gap between two rocks.

The main camp loomed at a little less than a kilometer, as recorded with the range device. However, with the scope of his sniper rifle, he might as well been about fifty feet away.

First things first. Which tent has a red star on it?

Crest carefully checked the tents...only to find that every tent had at least one red star.

Think a moment... the paper had said on the flaps... both flaps... north side...which, since I’m on the north-eastern side, would be on my left.

Crest carefully went through the tents again. Some of the tents had a red star on the eastern side or on the north-eastern side. Some of the tents that passed the previous check had only one star on the flaps. Only fifteen tents came through the check with both flaps having stars and facing the right direction.

What’s next? The visitors if I’m not wrong...but fifteen times five means I’d have to check...

Crest quickly ran the equation in his mind.

Seventy-five people within-- what was it? Ten minutes? Yeah, between ten and twenty minutes after the hour. I’ll throw that one out for now. What was next? Black helmet with gold trim? I’m pretty sure that’s what it was.

It was tedious work as Crest tracked each tent’s candidate. Four hours trickled by in what seemed to be four days. Every possible commander wore a black helmet and, if the sunlight fell on it, it seemed each one had gold trim. Therefore, Crest was forced to track each commander until they passed under a shadow. On top of that, he had to remember which commander had which tent. Of course, self-doubt quite often pressed him to abandon his previous observations and recheck his ideas.

Sighing, Crest finally confirmed the last possible commander he had to check as not a possibility. Five remained, and ten had been thrown out. Crest quietly stretched his neck. Four hours behind a scope with a single determination was not good. His body had fallen asleep and moved sluggishly

How the hell am I supposed to run away if necessary now? I guess a small break can’t hurt.

Crest started slowly, first slowly flexing his ankles and wrists. From there, he flexed his fingers and toes, restoring his finer muscular skills. From there, he created small circles with his forearms, not enough to give away his position to a watchful scout, but just enough to loosen up his muscles. The process continued as he restored motor skills to his muscles. Within a few minutes, the therapeutic purpose of the activity had been completed.

Berating himself for letting the event happen, Crest brought his eye back to the scope.

Come on, think for a moment. What had the paper said next? The commander does not proceed out of the innermost ring, if I’m not wrong. How long would I have to track each commander to find that out? And then of course, when I’m tracking the actual commander, I’d have to track him forever... I’ll go back to the visitor requirement. Five visitors, from the fourth ring and who proceed directly to his tent, between ten and twenty after the hour. And the time now is thirty-seven after the hour...

The wait was, in one word, boring. Yet, Crest’s patience was building, and it held out long enough for Crest to wait for the appointed time. His chronometer slid onto the tenth minute of the hour, and Crest exploded into a relative flurry of activity. Should have somebody have looked at Crest, he or she would probably have seen no movement or, if they were very observant, the rifle shifting about an inch either way.

Inside the impersonal armor, Crest’s brain was noting each movement of everybody he could within the four innermost rings of the camp, a monumental task to say the least. Thankfully, within about three minutes, the task had been shaved by roughly three-fourths, as many stopped to talk to others. The remaining thirty possible visitors were hastily covered by Crest. One by one, twenty bought the dust as they stopped to talk. As the remaining ten made their way to the first ring, they all reported in, and as the chronometer touched the twentieth minute of the hour, there were only two possible commanders left.

Now, what was the final identifier? The commander does not proceed out of the innermost ring of checkpoints. Hurry up and wait.

A grim smile touched Crest’s lips as the old adage came to mind. No matter the amount of relief the small elation gave, Crest dispelled it and sent it away. Nothing was going to distract him from this mission. Yet, five hours of lying down had taken a toll on him, and his mind felt like packing up shop and going to sleep as the sun went down.

Those damn trainers! They just had to do this to me. Try to concentrate. Try to.

Crest drove his right hand’s fingers into his palm. The crude and barbaric, though effective, method temporarily drove pain through his nerves and jolted the notion of sleep.

Temporarily awake, Crest watched each movement of the two candidates, tracking them. He could feel his mind slowing down as the repetitive task took its toll. Each time he felt himself slow down, he found a new method of causing a minor amount of pain, such as ramming his foot into the ground.

The process continued. Shift the scope to the first candidate. Next, shift the scope to the second candidate. Then, hurry back and check on the first candidate. Finally, cause a bit of pain and keep yourself awake as you check the second candidate.

As the chronometer again struck the hour, the first candidate moved to a checkpoint on the innermost ring. Staying on the inside of the checkpoint, he stopped and conversed with the guards. Crest imagined the conversation happening down there.

As the ‘commander’ came to a stop at the checkpoint, both guards snapped off two quick salutes.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening to you two, also.”

Both guards dropped their salutes and assumed a more informal posture.

“How’s your day been so far, sir?”

“Good. Anything to report?”

“Eh, one thing, sir. Look over there.”

Crest watched as the guard pointed to something hidden from Crest’s vision by a tent. The ‘commander’ walked out of the checkpoint-- and Crest realized his final criteria had been met.

Having memorized the second candidate or the, as he now knew, commander’s general area, Crest brought his rifle around and honed in on the exact location.

Crest slid the bolt of the rifle back, exposing the main firing chamber. Extracting the single bullet he had been issued, Crest slid it into its spot and slammed the bolt closed.

Crest lined up the shot and exhaled. He prepared to squeeze the trigger. However, something held him back.

I feel like I’m missing something from the instructions. Think, Crest. What had that cursed paper said?

Yet, his memory slipped from his grasp time and time again. The six hours of tracking candidates had siphoned the paper away from him.

Dammit, Crest, think! Was there a mission name that implied something? No, it was something along the lines of “Kill somebody in charge”. The mission number, then? No... at least, I don’t think anything was implied with it. Area or opposing forces, then? Dead end again, it was like “Training Area 95/Opposing Forces: 82th and 99th platoons” or something like that. Did I miss the criteria? No... I checked for the red stars on the tent, the visitors, the black helmet with gold trim, and the innermost-ring requirement. Instructions, then? Let me see... commander, kill after identification. Only a single round will be issued. Kill the commander so that no one finds is body for a considerable amount of time. That’s it! That’s what I missed! Now to actually follow the command.

The commander’s current position, flanked by tents that were serving as a barracks currently was, obviously, inadequate. Yet the commander’s route would eventually take him to supply tents. It would be the perfect spot, as it was going to extremely unlikely that anybody would come over the night.

Crest fight with sleep had disappeared as adrenaline filled him, having seen the end of the mission coming. Crest’s mind was now focused singularly on killing this commander.

The minutes passed away in seconds, and, soon, the commander was at the supply tents. Crest waited until the commander stopped to check a slightly damaged box. There was no wind, therefore Crest did not have to worry about the wind drift that plagued snipers. The commander was also not moving, therefore Crest would not have to factor in pesky movement speeds and the slight delay before the bullet hit. Crest, in a ritual that had almost become second nature to him, exhaled and fired the round at the commander. It struck dead center on the commander’s back, a testament to Crest’s increasing accuracy.

With no warning electrical tendrils shot out of the commander. Crest, watching from his scope, instinctively recoiled.

Guess the commander was a droid. Now, thinking about it, I should’ve wondered why they issued me a live round... Oh, who knows? Maybe they had heavy body armor on the other ‘commanders’. Maybe the other ‘commanders’ were also droids. The point that matters is that I did what I had to.

Crest signaled the shuttle and waited for his extraction, his mission completed.