Not much in the way of a life update here, so let's just jump straight into some mind numbing fanfiction :D
Jackson knelt into the wet grass, pulling the stock of his rifle deep into his shoulder. He breathed softly, peering through his scope. He scanned the target building in front of him, watching for signs of movement.
Nothing.
“Motion detector and claymores in place.” Ralph this time.
Jackson did another sweep of the building with his rifle’s scope before speaking; “Eyes on, Ralph. Get your heat scope on the building. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Holding position.” Pete said, almost bored.
“Eyes on.” Ralph reported. “Nothing coming up on the house, dead as a dodo. Wait. Hang on a second.”
“What is it, Ralph?” Jackson asked.
“Contact!”
“Take the shot. You know our orders.” Jackson replied.
Captain Jackson remembered his superiors almost shouting it into him to not take any chances with this operation. Extremely dangerous targets with exceptionally dangerous tech. Jackson, having seen a tour of duty in both Afghanistan and Iraq, doubted that there was much that could scare him anymore.
And then they invited someone in, who didn’t look like he wanted to be there.
After he gave an example of what his superiors were talking about, Jackson didn’t want him to be there either.
“Take the shot!”
In the dead silence of this unnatural night, the suppressed sniper rifle was easy to hear. Jackson watched as a blood spatter slapped over the wall next to the gate. That was decidedly odd, considering that there hadn’t been anyone standing there in the first place.
“Nice shot, mate.” This came from the fourth team member, Andrew.
“Confirm it.” Jackson prompted.
“On it,” Andrew replied, breaking seamlessly from his cover in the darkened undergrowth.
Jackson kept a second eye on the scene as Ralph watched for other signs of life. Andrew made his way to the invisible target, watching carefully as he crept in the shadow of the wall. Jackson watched as he reached down to apparently nothing, and tugged. Something moved, and immediately stopped as Andrew whipped out his combat knife and stabbed it deep.
“Bloody hell.” Exclaimed William as someone appeared in his view.
The once invisible sentry died, his clenched fist opening slowly and dropping the tiny stick that it had been holding on to. Andrew pulled his combat knife out of the robed chest and wiped it before sheathing it on his chest webbing.
“Contact!” It was Peter this time.
Jackson cursed himself for not keeping up is roving eye. He spun round and saw Peter kneel and begin to engage two targets at medium range. One target raised his arm in apparent defiance, only to crumble as a burst of 5.56mm rounds ripped through his masked face. Peter never missed at that range.
Kill or be killed. Only the best survived to make the SAS.
Jackson sighted the second man; he had tried to duck out of the way, apparently shocked by the sharp bark of Peter’s SA80 assault rifle. Oh well, no point staying quiet now.
Jackson scoped the second man and squeezed the trigger, watching as the first, second and third rounds ripped into the man’s chest and abdomen. Jackson swung his SA80 down and began moving down the hill to join his partner.
“Your man’s still up, Jackson.” Peter remarked.
Jackson said nothing but ran to his partner. He stopped at the feet of the still breathing sentry. The man was clutching feebly at his long robes, muttering curses in a shallow death rattle. He was clearly looking for something.
Peter kicked the man’s hands free of his pockets. “No larking about, nutter. We don’t want any spooky surprises here.”
“All clear by the gate?” Jackson asked.
“Quiet. Can’t give all clear, but it is quiet.” Ralph replied. “Maybe they weren’t expecting company?”
“Or they were underestimating us.” Jackson muttered. “Stay frosty.”
The sentry stared was staring at his two attackers. His pale blue eyes were darting from one soldier to the other as though they were alien creatures.
“Who are you?” He rasped.
Jackson looked down at him, realising that his full helmet and face gear must have been intimidating, and then he remembered what his type had done to those poor souls who had been trapped on the bridge in London.
The man screamed as a heavy British combat boot broke his wrist.
“Bad boy. If you don’t go for that magic stick of yours, I might let you keep your other wrist.” Peter hissed.
“Magic…stick…” The sentry chuckled, coughing blood. “Muggle filth. Nothing better than apes. The Dark Lord will kill you all and scatter your bones to the wind.”
“Don’t bet on it, mate.” Jackson said. “Now where is your mate, the Darth Lord?”
The man had snarl of a grin as he heard the question. He spat more blood through his terrible mask and rolled over carefully, only to be kicked on his back again by the overzealous Peter.
“No funny business,” warned Peter again. “Now where’s your mate?”
The Death Eater laughed. It was inhuman, and made the hairs on the back of both Peter and Jackson’s necks stand up.
“No...funny…business?” The Death Eater touched his other sleeve with his crippled hand, “...too…late….Lord Vol-
Crack!
The Death Eater’s jaw slackened as another burst from Jackson’s rifle finished his sentence for him. The Prime Minister had been very clear than their target was called “he who must not be named” for a reason.
Load of bollocks, Jackson thought, but who wanted to take chances?
The team had stood in the Prime Minister’s office as they had him very clearly explain the realities of the magic world. The Prime Minister was a very serious man who was talking to a team of very serious soldiers who were employed to do very serious things.
Jackson and his team had remained quiet out of professional courtesy and silently asked the question as to when the next election was to take place.
Then the Prime Minister had introduced his secretary, who proceeded to turn a teacup into a mouse and then back into a teacup again.
The serious men remained serious, but there was a flicker of doubt in their eyes as the secretary began to really show them what magic could do.
“Eyes up! Incoming!” Andrew shouted, jerking Jackson back to reality.
Jackson looked up and saw the giant green skull in the air. The jaws opened and a snake lolled out lazily. Black figures began swarming through the sky towards his team.
“Give me a bloody IED any day.” Jackson growled as be began to squeeze shots off into the night sky.
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Purely chocolate fiction, written in about an hour. Fun to write, though. Worth continuing?
