Rainforest Sniping
Disclaimer:
All individuals and tactics portrayed in the following story are products of my imagination, and should be considered that way. Any likeness between any person or character living or otherwise is a coincidence. The following story contains descriptions of death and military affiliations as well. Therefore don't take it seriously because I didn't. Anyway, this is my first story I've written so feedback is encouraged, and appreciated. Enjoy!
Haluam
*
Charlice Wallice lay prone on the edge of cliff, wedged in between a few rocks. There were birds all around her, chirping, completely oblivious to her presence. She appearing invisible to them because of her lack of motion for the past few hours. Charlice looked at the valley below her, scanning through her high powered monocular. The sun was starting to set on the other side of the valley. There was a river, well over a thousand feet below her, snaking lazily through the lush rainforest basin. A brightly colored monkey was perched on a rock trying to catch a fish; she ignored it and continued scanning the river. But all she saw was more wildlife.
A barely noticeable tap on her shoulder signified that it was time to swap places with her partner. A light dip in her head was the only acknowledgment her partner received. The long barrel of her M200 sniper rifle was slowly pushed toward her, while she picked up the monocular and passed it back. The post change complete, Charlice Wallice closed her eyes to sleep until her watch beeped the hour for the next post change.
"Target spotted." a barely audible whisper spoke at least half an hour later. Her eyes flashed open, no drowsiness, no need to warm her self up.
"Range?" was her muted reply. Charlice already had the targeting PDA out and was updating all of the weather conditions.
"Two thousand, three hundred yards." perfect range to not be detected and difficult enough to test out the capabilities of her new rifle.
"Position?" Charlice waited to adjust the scoped for the wind conditions.
"Eleven O'clock north by negative seven hundred feet." Charlice shifted the rifle to bear on the said position. Both eyes were open, one eye peering through the scope and one eye searching normally. The target, a small human with a company of heavily armed fighters next to him, was sitting down by the river, washing the sweat and grim off of his face. Looks like the intel was good for once.
"Target spotted, counting thirty tangos." The camouflaged black pantheress announced to her spotter. She had already warmed up her laser camera and was recording hundreds of pictures of her target and his personal guard.
"Affirmative, calling in for the shot." Charlice waited patiently letting the time pass by while her spotter checked for clearance to make the shot. She spent time moving as if to touch the trigger but always stopping just short.
The Jungle General, as Charlice and other members of their elite CIA unit had dubbed him at the mission briefing a few days ago, was now talking with some of his subordinates. Those of which went to other small groups of men who were standing guard over their rest area, most likely telling them to get comfortable. Their mistake. The whole company seemed to start to relax a little, calling out to one another from across their temporary camp. Not even setting up sentries.
"The shot has been cleared, let's let 'em have it!" Charlice half-smiled as she willed her heart beat to slow. She was rhythmically breathing out to steady the rifle and sight in on the target. Charlice tuned everything out: the sounds around her, the smell of granite and wet soil underneath her prone body, the guards relaxing around their charge, and the details of the small latter-aged general. All he is now is a target.
"Steady," her spotter said to unhearing ears. "Fire..." the crosshairs were set frozen on his barely discernable center of mass. "Fire..." Charlice moved her finger until it almost touched the trigger.
"...Fire." On that last mark the black pantheress exhaled and lightly tapped the trigger. The rifle bucked against her shoulder, scooting her backwards six or so inches. The bullet raced out of the M200 at three times the speed of sound. The .408 round sliced through the hot, humid air, causing the moisture to condense around the bullet, leaving a thin trail of vapor behind it. It sped through the forest and over the small river and past a bend. The round slowed to sub-sonic at twenty-two hundred yards, dissipating the sonic crack to nothing, and leaving its origins untraceable. The round slammed high into the side of the general's neck with more energy than a .50 cal. The specially designed bullet cracked through his spinal column and through the soft tissue, decapitating him and killing him instantly. The shrapnel of the round continued through the air and sliced into a human guard sitting near by. It imbedded itself in his gut, also killing him, abet much more slowly.
It took a good couple seconds for the rest of the camp to realize that their commanding officer had been shot. The camps delayed reaction was priceless to the snipers, a thousand feet up and over a mile and a half away. The mortally wounded soldier finally yelled out to the rest of the company before passing out from the pain. The resting soldiers jumped and ran behind rocks and trees and started shooting randomly at the forest. Charlice laughed and said, "I think they've engaged us, call it in!"
Her spotter, trying to suppress his own laughs, choked out, "Sorry Charlie, they're not shooting at us. You know the rules. Lets packed it up and call for evac."
"Ah man! You're no fun at all!" Charlice cried out as she packed up her gear and started backing away from the rocks that have been her home for the last two days.
*
A small, black iguana was sunning itself on an out cropping of dry rock. The sun was beating down on the unusually calm ocean surrounding the sea wall on which it was resting. The narrow channel off the coast of Laguna, Brazil was relatively sparse. No ships were traversing it today, only small fishing vessels with occupants brave enough to traverse the usually rough sea. Few tourists visit the small town because of the nearby Florianopolis and Sao Paulo.
The iguana lifted its head at the high pitched whine of a speed boats approach. The fifty foot twin-hull was flying over the small ocean waves bouncing hard every now and then. The unmarked vessel slowed to navigate into the channel towards the Lagoa de Santo Antonio. The loud rumble from the engines caused some of the fishermen and people along the coast to look up what has disturbed the otherwise peaceful day.
The iguana had seen enough and scurried back into the rocks as the expensive vessel passed by. The unmarked speed boat accelerated once again to pass through to Volta de Lagoa. It stopped in the middle of the large harbor and dropped anchor. One would have to look hard to spot it from the coast. The blue hull was bobbing slightly as it waited. It rested there for a good thirty minutes, apparently waiting for something, or someone.
If one could see the details of the nameless boat and were watching, they would eventually see two figures emerge from the waters, climb into the vessel and disappear inside. Minutes later, they would see the speed boat pull anchor and race away, leaving whoever watched it in confusion.
*
A dozen computer terminals were crammed into every available space at the stern of the CIA owned speedboat. Listening equipment, electronic warfare paraphernalia, ropes and wires, and satellite tracking gear were stuffed into the bow of the fifty foot high performance vessel. Beds seemed to be an after thought, as hammocks were the main sleeping arrangement. There were also some bunks, but those were shoved into corners, under benches, between banks of computer towers. Every bed, hammock, and work post was manned, but one could see that the stations and sleeping areas never grew cold as the result of the absence of a body.
Everywhere people were shouting back and forth, comparing maps and data tables, and sweating profusely. Everyone that is, except Charlice. She was lying in a hammock strung up between a server tower a supplies crate with her legs crossed, arms behind her head, and long dark tail swishing back and forth blending in perfectly with the dark. Wide awake, she lay there apparently doing nothing, just being absorbed by her own thoughts. She breathed out heavily and stared at the deck above. She hated this part of the post-mission, the undercover extraction and the long wait before being able to see daylight.
Charlice could do nothing on the small, fast moving boat; she would just get in the way. Best to let those intelligence shrinks take care of their jobs and take a gander at the information she had gathered at the operation. By just taking a glance at the busy, computer illuminated ship, Charlice could see pictures that she took on half of those bright terminals.
Charlice was a foreign operator for the CIA. Her standing mission was to gather intelligence about potential enemies to the US, and if the need presents itself, eliminate them. She has had extensive training as a marksmen and sniper, but was also special operations capable. Unlike the military, the CIA has no qualms about a female being a special operative. Charlice has served all over the world: Central and South America, former Soviet republics, China, Africa, and of course the Middle East and Afghanistan. Her most recent op was in the middle of the Brazilian rainforest. It was also one of her quickest. She had only been deployed for two weeks when they called in a strike against the target she was trying to find. They told her when and where, and she waited for three days just for one shot. One shot and two kills that is.
The hammock that Charlice was in started leaning heavily towards the bow. The boat was slowing, either to resupply or to dock with a Navy cruiser. The black furred panther sighed and pulled out her knife. She used it to examine herself, staring at her own short feline muzzle. Her thin, broad whiskers were tense as was her jaw and partially laid back ears. She traced with her intense amber eyes the spider webbed scar on her left ear. Charlice snarled to her self as she remembered how much it had hurt when the bullet had pierced it. The shouting still continued outside, but it wasn't the tense, augmented yelling of a fight, so Charlice continued to ignore it.
After a few minutes most of the noise out side had dimmed to the quiet rushing of water around the hull. Charlice spared a glance to the side and noticed that a small human Marine was standing quite awkwardly nearby, his eyes fixed on her knife. Charlice smiled at him and said, "You need something, or should I just ignore you, Sergeant?"
The Marine startled slightly, but stiffened just as quick. His stance changed as he stopped starring at Charlice's knife and started staring at the wall behind her. "Ma'am, I'm here to escort you to your new quarters on the corvette your vessel has docked with."
Charlice yawned and sheathed her knife. "Do I get to know the name of the ship I'm about to board?" she asked as she started to sit up.
"No ma'am, not from me. Ask the captain once you're settled in."
"Great..." Charlice trailed off as she dropped off the hammock to collect her gear.
When she looked up, the Marine had turned his back to her and was waiting patiently by the exit. Charlice wondered briefly who he had pissed off to be stationed on a Naval corvette. But that thought was lost among all the other more serious questions she has never had answered in her job. Questions like, "Why does the CIA care about a small Brazilian drug lord who has been hunted by his own people enough to have him assassinated?" Yet Charlice knew that that category of questions could leave her without a job, or worse.
Almost finished packing, Charlice stood up and looked down at the gear. The huge back pack was stuffed with a wide assortment of equipment, explosives, ammunition, and weapons. In all, the whole blasted thing must weigh close to a hundred pounds. Stooping down again Charlice started to field strip her M200 to pack it back in its case to carry it aboard the waiting corvette.
Charlice Wallice had finished packing and just stared with contempt at the heavy bag. She really did not want to carry it, even though she knew she had to do it. Stifling a groan, Charlice heaved the heavy bag up and swung it onto her shoulders. "Fuck'n hell! This is heavy!" she cursed as the excruciatingly heavy bag pressed down on her six foot tall body.
It wasn't as big a deal as she made it out to be. Charlice was just being lazy; she had hiked around fifty miles with just as much weight very recently. A small chuckle sounded not very far away, and the panthress' head shot up instantly looking for who ever would dare to laugh at her right then. It was the Marine, but he wasn't laughing at her, he was talking to a sailor about something. She guessed that it was alright to relax her claws. Charlice huffed at her own self-consciousness. It wasn't like her.
Charlice shifted the back pack to a more comfortable position and marched toward the Marine and the exit. The grinning Marine turned around at the sound her approach and the sailor took a step backwards. Charlice pressed pass them and continued onwards to the flight deck of the small vessel. She stopped short of the catwalk that led into the corvette and looked behind her at the joking duo slowly making their way towards her. As the Marine and sailor passed Charlice she noticed the eagle and trident pinned of the right shoulder of the sailor as well as the Force Recon patch on the marine. A SEAL and a Recon Marine talking together. That was a new one for her.
Charlice fallowed the two inside. They were still cracking jokes at each other when the Navy SEAL said his good bye and staggered off. The Marine gave one last chuckle and turned to Charlice saying, "I'll take you on a tour before showing you your quarters."
Charlice narrowed her eyes at him and said, "I'd really like you to show me my room first if at all possible. I have some chores I need to take care of." And Charlice said this keeping all of her contempt of the short human from her voice, but not her expression.
"Yes ma'am, I'm well aware of your business aboard this Special Operations Corvette. But I might have to be a part of your up coming mission."
The Marine turned away from her and walked briskly down the grey painted steel corridor. Charlice sighed and trudged after him, hoping that he was showing the way to her room. Taking a sudden left, the Marine disappeared from view for a brief second as Charlice struggled to slow down her momentum to take the corner.
As she came around the edge, Charlice found herself a few feet from the corvettes internal boat ramp. The Marine was walking past a deflated zodiac to what looked like a ticket booth, but with every type of rifle, SMG, pistol, and explosive imaginable stored inside. Charlice frowned, and before she could speak, the gunnery sergeant inside the armory shouted at her, "Check in your weapons and ammo here Agent Wallice! You won't be going anywhere if you don't!"
Charlice flattened her ears back in irritation. She made a glace at the Marine standing smugly to the side. He only grinned back at her.
"I'm waiting!" the gunny yelled at her.
"Alright, alright just wait a second, will ya!" Charlice said adding a growl.
She sagged slightly and started unbuckling and taking off the harnesses on her pack. Charlice dropped it unceremoniously to the deck, and untied the M4 on the back. She also unholstered the MP7 and 9mm pistol strapped to her thighs. Moving back to her pack, Charlice dug around in the side pockets for the grenades she had stashed there. Finding all eight, she moved her attention to the main section and fished around for the C4 stowed within, as well as the three claymores. Charlice then took a quick inventory of ammunition: forty-nine rounds for the M200, four hundred fifty rounds for the MP7, and one hundred forty four rounds for the 9mm. Collecting all the magazines, Charlice took them to the ammo drop and threw them in. She then picked up all of her weapons and cleared them next to the armory booth and placed the guns one at a time in the exchange tray. Charlice finally moved toward her explosives and placed them along with their detonators into the tray beneath the firearms.
The gunny gave a huff of approval towards the small arsenal of weaponry and turned away to sort out the ammunition first.
"Let's go, Agent." The Marine called out to her as she was picking up her pack again, "If you're interested, I'll show you to your quarters."
"Of course I'm interested, ya dip-shit!" Charlice snarled.
The Marine laughed and, as he was turning away, Charlice caught a glimpse of his name tag, Bjorn. Bjorn took off down the passageway they just came from. Charlice growled in mild frustration at him as she hurried off to catch up with him. They stopped a short time later at a small door, if it could be called that. It was barely five feet tall, and led into a small room with a triple bunk bed. The room it self was also small, ten feet long by five feet wide and high.
Charlice sighed and groaned out, "Who's going to be sharing quarters with me?" as she brought a darkly furred hand to her face in a pitiful attempt at hiding it.
Bjorn smiled and exclaimed out like a cheep used car salesmen, "Nobody but you! And of course you might have to bear some of the other female officers on board who would like to sleep with you!"
"Peachy..." Charlice was really starting to hold a lot of contempt for Sergeant Bjorn by this point, and was ready to punch him the next chance he said something unnecessary.
So with a great amount of relief on Charlice's end, the sergeant turned around and sauntered away yelling back at her, "They want you in the launch bay as soon as you're settled in! Adios!"
He rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Agent Wallice sighed heavily and unstrapped her pack. She dropped it into the entrance of the bunk room and starred at it, hopping it would move itself. After a few seconds the pack started leaning, and fell into the hallway. Sighing again, Charlice reverted to kicking the pack into the room instead of picking it up.
A little while, and a lumpy pack, later, Charlice was marching along the red painted strip back to the boat launching bay and armory in the stern of the corvette. As she walked through the solid steel entrance, she faintly noticed that the gunny was still sorting the ordnance she had dropped off. The salty smelling and dimly illuminated bay had changed little in the five minutes she had been gone. The biggest difference was the group of Navy SEALs in the corner. Charlice recognize one of them as the sailor talking to Bjorn earlier. Four of them were humans, one was a short fox, and two were wolves. They were all gathered around a small mini-sub, talking lightheartedly to each other.
One of them noticed her walking in and pointed her out to the others, all of whom turned around to see who was on foot. They all were staring at her, almost sizing her up. Charlice turned toward them and growled, "If you need something from me... ask, don't gawk. It leaves a bad first impression." One of the SEALs, a giant of a human, chuckled and leaned back onto the mini-sub. The rest started smiling. The fox barked out a small bit of laughter and decided to introduce the team to her.
"I'm Petty Officer Second Class Nathan Black," pointing to his black and orange furred self. "That's Chief Petty Officer Evan Daniels," pointing to the SEAL she had seen with Bjorn, "Lieutenant William Darkpaw and Lieutenant Commander John Matthews." Nathan gestured toward the wolves across from him. "Moving down the line we have our team leader, Commander Josh Goldsmith." the largest of the group nodded in her direction. He looked almost seven feet tall, but had a lightness to his stance that told Charlice that he was quick on his feet. The small fox introduced the last two humans as their teams' sniper and spotter. Petty Officers First Class Kyle and Devin Cherry. Charlice nodded to both of them and received a curt "Howdy" from the two. They looked identical.
So Charlice asked, "You two twins?" They both opened their mouths to speak but the one in front spoke first.
"Yep, me and Kyle sure are. We joined the fleet the same time and graduated from BUD/s the same time as well." Despite the obvious southern drawl that Devin spoke in, Agent Charlice Wallice could tell by the shine in both their eyes that the twins were extremely clever. They must have been clone terrors growing up, playing havoc on friends and authority alike. It's a no wonder why they both are the same rank and profession in the military, and ended up as SEALs to boot. They both had the typical arrogantly relaxed stance that the SEALs team member generally took up. Kyle and Devin were both short and stocky at five feet five inches, but they looked akin to cross between an Olympic swimmer and a world-class martial artist.
"t's a pleasure." Charlice almost purred. She glanced at the two wolves, Lieutenant William Darkpaw and Lieutenant Commander John Matthews; they appeared reminiscent of their feral kin. Darkpaw had the typical Native American name with the accompanying grey and white fur and drooping, shaggy tail. Next to his dog tags he was wearing a typical Native American medicine pouch. His long, white muzzle was slightly parted in a wide lolling smile which spoke of a good sense of humor. The lieutenant's eyes were the golden brown that came with his canine background. Lieutenant Commander John Matthews, on the other hand, possessed a more ruddy and earthen pattern than did the other wolf. Matthews' muscles were ripped; thick biceps and forearms were crossed to emphasize their strength. His shoulders and pecks were enormous; they strained to break free of the black t-shirt that he was wearing. Charlice couldn't see his abs because of the t-shirt loosely hanging on his massive upper body. But Charlice was sure that he has an eight-pack. His red, black, and brown tail was twitching slightly in impatience. The eyes were what were weird about him; they were a dark green that stood out from the speckled furred face.
Wallice could see that they all regarded her with a light hearted apprehension and each studied her with a critical eye. Charlice felt extremely uncomfortable, but her pride kept it from showing on her face. "Well gentlemen, it's nice to meet all of you, but... I still don't know what this ship is called, or why I've been brought aboard."
Nathan Black was about to answer her when the giant human, Commander Josh Goldsmith, stepped forward and rumbled, "You're on board to stage up for your next operation. The CIA has transferred you to SOCOM. You purpose here is still a mystery to everyone onboard, even me and the captain. You should find out when we are given the orders for our next mission. We have figured that we are going somewhere near Antarctica and it's apparently going to be a full SpecOps invasion. We're only one of three SEAL teams on the project. There are also two Delta Force teams, four Force Recon teams, and two Green Berets team.
"We have no intel right now except for the fact that we are going to be underwater for the insertion, and that you are going to be a part of my team." The human stopped talking and looked down at the CIA asset. "What I want to know from you is what is not in your personal file; what can you offer my team that we can't already do for ourselves? Where should you fit in on this team?" he closed his mouth as his deep voice was starting to sound accusing. He took a step back and shook his heavily bearded face.
The black panthress almost startled, she hadn't noticed before, but all of the humans had long scruffy beards, at least several months worth. They must have been a part of the Middle Eastern war. Otherwise they wouldn't have been able to accumulate such growth. "I don't have any clue about all that, yet I'm sure you know a lot more about myself than I do your team. Maybe I'll be able to connect the dots better if you tell me about your standing mission." Charlice asked partly to confirm her theory about them and to also appease the Commander's mind about her.
The Commander looked thoughtful for a minute. Then looking at Charlice, he traced her features. His gazed lingered on the scar that spider-webbed her left ear. Speaking softly, Commander Goldsmith asked gently, "What's your security level? I don't remember seeing it on your file."
Charlice chuckled, "That's probably because that info is rated eyes only. You should verify your own clearance before I tell you anything. I am working for the CIA, after all." Charlice paused to let that little piece of over looked data soak in. "If you think about it, Navel Intelligence reports regularly to my employer."
The entire team looked nervously toward each other. They just realized that the six foot tall female panther that they were talking to could have a higher security clearance than anyone else onboard the ship. The joint SpecOps coordinater may perhaps be the only one who could rival it. The team's behavior pleased Agent Wallice greatly, but before she gloated, she would need to know more about what's going on. More than the meager tid-bits that Goldsmith told her.
There was little talking among the SEALs and CIA agent. They all stood in silence. The twins were playing a frustrating game of paper, scissors, rock together. Charlice chuckled a little at the fact that they were consistently showing the same signals for up to thirty times in a row. The small fox, Nathan Black, was checking over the mini-subs condition. Both of the wolves appeared to be sleeping on opposite sides of the group. The rest were staring at the armory and the weapons that the gunnery sergeant was now obviously obsessed with. Charlice just smiled at the gunny's fondness of her personalized armaments. Now that the obnoxious Marine, Sergeant Bjorn, had disappeared, Charlice was in a much better mood.
After another minute or so of waiting quietly, a small human in digital forest camouflage marched into the launch bay. Despite the man's small figure, the bay's relaxed atmosphere shifted as soon as one of his booted feet crossed the threshold into the area. Authority sloughed off of him as he made his way toward the mismatched group. Charlice peeled her eyes away for the captain for a moment to examine the SEALs reactions. They were all stiff and saluting the later-aged grey haired human. As Charlice turned back to look at the Navy SEAL officer, she noted in the back of her mind the he could barely be five feet tall, but his confidence made it seem like he was twice that height.
He smiled at the SEAL team and spoke in a calm, quiet, and timeless voice that carried more than words through the air, "How you boys doing?"
"HOO-YEAH! WE'RE FINE! SIR!" The SEALs roared back in a single instantaneous, bone-jarring voice that Charlice felt ringing through the deck that they all stood on. Holy Fuckn shit! Those guys respect him! Charlice just stood there, stunned, and waited for the ringing in her flattened ears to go away.
The captain, on the other hand, was completely unfazed, he simply nodded and stated, "Good to hear, SEALs. Oh, and at ease too." At that remark the SEALs shifted their weight until comfortable, but still retaining their respectful ranks in front of seeming larger than life itself captain. He turned towards Charlice and regarded her with a critical eye. Charlice stood off to the side of the group and waited for the captain to address her. "Agent Wallice I sure you have had time for introductions among the boys." His eyes beamed as if he were talking about his prize child. "I'm also sure you want to know who I am. I'm Captain George Heelgrid. I've been put in charge of the SEAL Special Operations on the up coming mission."
He paused for a moment and turned back toward SEALs, "You guys go ahead and listen up as well this and we can consider this an unofficial brief." He paused again then glanced over at the gunny in the armory. He sighed and spoke in the quiet voice that seemed to boom around them, "Gunny, close up shop. You can't hear this."
There was small pause and a quick "yes sir!" from the armory. Charlice heard a bell ring as a five ton blast door rose quickly from the floor. It locked itself into a position covering the weapons store in a six inch cage of solid steel. Soon after, one of the SEALs moved towards a bulkhead door to seal it into a locked position.
Charlice watched as Captain Heelgrid walked in a slow circle around Charlice and the team. Agent Wallice's tail was rippling and waving in curiosity, her ears were now straining forwards in anticipation, and Charlice's eyes were wide waiting from waiting to hear about the mission. The captain halted in front of Charlice. He must have noticed how excited she was to hear about this mysterious full SOCOM invasion.
"First off the list, I'm not involved in the full planning so I can't know everything." George Heelgrid stated. "Next is the fact that I think this mission is completely fubar. I don't like how this is going; we are being rushed out to an Antarctic island directly south of Africa with minimal intel." George sighed and decided to tell them in one quick breath, "One week ago, there was an explosion on that island approximately equivalent of a thirty mega-ton (not kilo-ton), nuclear explosion. We have confirmation that the explosion was in fact non-nuclear.
"But the fact remains that the islands geometry has been radically altered. There is no crater, and all satellites that perform fly-bys over the island are unable to use their optical sensors. But radar telemetry remains unaffected and has shown that the height of the island has grown to almost seven-thousand feet." He paused again for a second to catch his breath. Everyone had questions, but they held off on voicing them until the elder captain had finished.
"The CIA has launched Global Hawk UAVs, and we have lost each one. Presumably by jamming their signals. Your mission will be recon in nature, but if a threat presents itself to you, do what you do best SEALs. You're also to stick with Agent Wallice" Captain Heelgrid looked at Charlice, "My guess is that your operation will be to recover any data on those downed UAVs. From what I know, there were three launched at the time."
Chief Petty Officer Evan Daniels spoke for the first time since his exchange with Bjorn, "Sir, when's our ETA and should we pack heavily?" Packing heavily is a term used to describe a serviceman when most of the weight he's carrying is comprised of explosives. "Or should we be keeping range?"
The captain began again by pronouncing, "If the mission is the recovery of the UAVs hard drive, I'd expect that you'll need to destroy the avionics. So... most likely a yes to the first question." Heelgrid looked back and forth among the group. "And to answer the second one... I can't say anything for sure, yet since the island is going to be mountainous I think you will need to prep for long range engagements as well."
As the grizzled Captain Heelgrid stopped speaking, Charlice started smiling and asked, "How large is the island at this time, and does it appear to still be growing? It's important to know if landmarks could disappear on us."
He shifted slightly before answering, "That's a possibility. At the time I received the intel, the island was approximately sixty miles from coast to coast. But if you concentrate on locating one UAV at a time you may have to focus less on your position than other wise." He stopped for a moment and considered his thoughts silently before continuing, "We'll be in submersible range in a day or so. So start packing soon."
The captain was turning to walk away when Nathan Black cut in. "Sir, what are the other teams going to be doing while we're on the island?"
Captain George Heelgrid stopped and looked back at the small fox. Taking a deep breath he said cryptically, "Your guess is as good as mine, son." And with that he turned and walked away, banging twice on the armory as he marched past.
The blast doors started to lower back into the floor as Commander Goldsmith announced, "Well, I think we all need to start packing, so fair well to you, ma'am." And with that, the seven Navy SEALs walked past the tall panteress and back into the ships interior.
As Charlice watched them leave through the porthole, she sighed to herself and sat down against the bulkhead. She had a distinct, sinking feeling in her gut. Charlice Wallice did not enjoy the ramifications that it most likely foretold. Every time the CIA operative has had that feeling something horrible has always taken place. The first time it occurred, her ear was shot as soon as she had started her mission, and had to play a game of seek and destroy with the Chinese. The second time it had happened she was captured by the Afghanistan Taliban, and was interrogated for a year before she was rescued by the Rangers.
And now this. Charlice had that same bad feeling about this upcoming mission. But she hasn't received her official orders yet, so there is some hope that she will receive better intel. The CIA should make contact soon. All Agent Wallice can do now is hope for the best, but plan for the worst.