Chapter 3
Her scope shifted past the visible fighters to a ridge almost hidden behind fog. A machine gun team setting up on a high shelf, angled to rake the entire ravine.
"They'll be online in under a minute," Ava said.
"That's nearly two miles through trees and fog," Holt said. "Nobody makes that shot."
"Call what you see, Holt."
He called the wind. He called the drift. Ava adjusted for distance, for the crosswind coming off the ridge, for the slight downward angle and the humidity sitting heavy in the fog layer between them and the target. She did not fire immediately. She waited through eleven seconds that felt considerably longer, until the gunner settled fully behind the weapon and presented the angle she needed.
The shot took the gunner before the weapon came online.
The second man reaching for the ammunition belt went down four seconds later, on a follow-up shot Holt would later describe, in his after-action statement, as the most controlled thing he had ever watched a human being do under that kind of pressure.
The third fighter on that ridge broke and ran.
"Move east on my count," Ava said into the radio, her voice level. "I'll open the window."
May you like
Rudd's voice came back rough with relief and disbelief in equal measure. "Stroud, where in the hell did that come from?"
"Two miles," she said. "Move now."
