Rancor Regicide

Rancor Regicide

Introduction

By: Silbern & 1st*Cav

“Target sighted,” a calm voice spoke out softly as a hand reached out to turn one dial. “Five meters right of cherry tree.”

“Seen,” the other man replied, gradually shifting to adjust his aim with the butt of the rifle held firmly against his shoulder.

“Wind moving southeast to northwest at six km/h. Target distance one thousand and nine point five meters.”

“Compensated.”

“These two are perfect for the job.”

“I'm not convinced.” A man said as he pulled one portfolio from the large oak table and began to read its contents.

“Not married, no immediate family, young and with plenty of experience. They are a fail-safe in and of themselves,” the other much loftier man said as he went to sit at the head of the table. “If their cover is blown then we’ll merely cut the cord. They will be phantom operatives with no connection to us.”

“The risk for this is too high!”

“Ice Pond, this is Canuck Diver. Sunbeam is in our ball park, over,” the spotter said as he adjusted his own scope.

“Canuck Diver, this is Ice Pond,” a voice responded over the radio ear piece. “You’re green for home run. I say again, you are green for home run, over.”

The sniper held his weapon securely, his finger lying carefully upon the trigger. This was his moment.

“If they fail and we're compromised, the global powers will be breaking our backs. The diplomatic tension between our worlds is still too fragile,” the man simply explained as he threw the portfolio against the table, causing two photos to slide out from between the folder.

“They will be ghosts.” The man at the head of the table leaned back; his chair groaned in protest against the weight. “Ghosts have no allegiance or nation,” siting back up straight he lightly pressed down with one finger onto his conference phone. “Purge all files connected to operators Yankee and Canuck. Make 'em disappear.”

“Here we go. Yellow,” the spotter said quietly as he gazed through his own scope.

The sniper drew one final breath in before holding it half way.

“Yellow.”

The majestic white pony chatted cordially with a balding man in a suit.

“Yellow.”

The sniper squinted for a moment as he swore he could see the mare looking directly at him. Puzzled but unshaken, he peered back down his sight, keenly anticipating his cue to fire. Everything was going according to plan. The conditions were ideal, and their technique nonpareil, owed to years of rigorous training together. Superb marksmanship was not merely employment, but an art, and one they excelled at. Yet, in spite of all this, his gut instinct felt that something was amiss.

“Green.”

Taking nothing for granted, the sniper swiftly recalled the fundamentals of marksmanship: steady position, proper sight-picture, controlled breathing, and a smooth trigger squeeze. The time had come.  He gently depressed the trigger. The firing pin struck the cartridge, igniting the round and sending the fifty caliber bullet spinning down the barrel. In an instant it gained incredible velocity, whisking through the rifling and warping the air upon its exit, leaving only a thundering crack in its wake as the spent casing launched from the ejection port. The spotter policed up the searing hot brass as soon as it struck the soil, tucking it away into his bag. He knew well the importance of leaving behind as little evidence as possible upon fulfilling a contract. Fewer than two seconds elapsed before the team once more lay motionless. The human ambassador fled in their direction as security personnel surrounded him in a flash.

“Miss. Green.”

Another skillful shot rang out but only managed to produce similar results. There was no visible dust cloud or debris to suggest a miss, yet the target displayed not even slightest flinch. The spotter briefly went wide-eyed as he caught a small glare from a grinning Princess Celestia.

“Oi, Yankee!” the spotter shouted to his partner, “I reckon this is your last chance. She’s onto us! Line up one more shot, post-haste, and make it count!”

“Bloody impossible,” the sniper remarked. “What could be wrong?”  This was unprecedented. He was not accustomed to missing a stationary target, especially twice. Suddenly he remembered something that he had been saving for just such an occasion. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a single special round. “One armour-piercing incendiary, coming up!” he smirked as he hurriedly loaded it into the chamber, again taking careful aim. “This ought to rustle your jimmies, eh, lass?” The final shot blasted from the rifle, the sound reverberating off the craggy walls of the mountainside and shaking loose some diminutive stones.

“The bullets are levitating in front of her!” the spotter exclaimed with disbelief, scarcely able to trust his own eyes. He could clearly see the white hot phosphorous still ignited and fizzling out, hovering alongside the previous two shots. The sniper had not missed after all; an enigmatic barrier was safeguarding the mystical mare from harm.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a voice boomed out from behind. Immediately they both turned to see several armoured pegasi land upon them in a fury of hooves. Their countenances rapidly soured to incredulity, and then panic, as the guards swarmed in to surround them.

“Break for it, mate!” the spotter hollered. Professionals always have a plan for dire circumstances such as this; they had rehearsed a rendezvous location in case they became compromised. Each grabbing their gear and drawing a sidearm, they bolted in opposite directions, but it was too late. Almost simultaneously, two shimmering swords slashed at the pistols, deftly disarming the duo, but otherwise leaving them unscathed. Awestruck, they could only stand frozen before their captors.

“Now then,” a knight scoffed, readying two sets of bronze cuffs, “if you’d be so kind as to cease your insolent escape attempt and accompany us back to the castle, the Princess desires an audience with you.” Left with few alternatives, they began the tough trek down the mountainside toward the opulent palace, nervously awaiting their fate.