4 - Operation Firestarter 1

C4 Operation Firestarter 1

By N00813

  Gilda slunk into the bushes, watching the bits of the camp that she could see in between tree trunks.  Around her ear, the Ariesian-made earpiece was silent.  She could see Dust and Tricks follow behind her, hidden in the deeper, denser tangle of forest.  That was where they belonged, she thought.

  The dog leant back against the tree-trunk, his face hanging in boredom.  Gilda could see his eyes blink slowly, vacantly.  Good.  She hefted the crossbow up, before glancing around.  There were no other sentries on the ridge.

  Experience had taught her several very important things: the chief amongst which was that what the eye saw was not always what was there, or vice-versa.

  She shifted the crossbow until the dog’s eye was in her sights.  At this range, she wouldn’t have to factor wind or gravity into the equation.  Rolk’s shots would, but then he’d done that for years and years.  To him, it was second-nature.

  She turned her head slowly, towards the west.  There was a range of hills there; rolling bumps that turned the forest’s canopy into waves of green.  Gilda’s eagle-sharp eyes could just make out Rolk’s small frame sitting amongst the branches, his black feathers and shawl lathering him in darkness.  The foliage also helped cover him up.

  She checked one last time.  No one was going to check on this dweeb.  She pulled the trigger.

  The bolt hissed as it sprang along the guide, bowstrings singing quietly behind.  For the shortest moment, the thin rod of steel seemed to hang in the air, even as Gilda’s adrenaline-addled brain scolded her to get going –

  The shot was perfect.

  The dog didn’t so much as jerk – there was just a short gasp of surprise accompanying the spurt of dark liquid from his eye, before he slumped.  But he didn’t fall to the ground – Gilda noted with grim satisfaction that the bolt had punched through the back of his head and into the tree, keeping his frame upright.

  She looked to both sides, before giving the all-clear gesture.

  The shuffle and scraping of leaves being brushed aside haphazardly brought a twitch to the griffon hen’s eye.  It had to be the new one, Dust.  Tricks’ cloak let her move through the terrain almost as well as Gilda could.

  Dust’s forelegs were shaking like leaves.  It was a wonder how the pegasus managed to continue standing upright.

  Tricks seemed to rematerialize next to Gilda, the unicorn’s cloak humming just the quietest note as it powered down.  She nodded to Gilda as she lowered herself to the ground on the edge of the cliff-face, pointedly ignoring the dog’s body.  “I’ll be fine.”

  Gilda looked back to Dust, whose aquamarine form still hadn’t moved.  The griffon hen shook her head.

  “I’ll talk to her, just get into position,” Tricks mumbled, her violet eyes still gazing over the campsite.  Gilda looked at the camp one last time before nodding.  The rough positions of the guards were still in her head as she crept once more back into the jungle.

  For a moment, nothing but the sounds of life and nature surrounded her.  Then –

  The growling of a rock-hound sounded out from just ahead.  She pressed herself to the ground, her crossbow pointing in front.  It sounded like the dog was angry, almost, or confused, judging by the whines intermixed with his rumbling growls.  No matter.  She’d put him out of his misery.

  She picked up a rock, before tossing it in an arc over a bush in front of her.

  The rock hit a tree with a solid thud.  It wasn’t too loud as to sound suspicious or dangerous, nor too quiet to be missed – just that beautiful medium where she knew the dog’s brain wouldn’t let it go unless he checked it out.  By himself.

  She grinned as the sucker’s heavy footfalls sounded out, accompanied by the chorus of broken twigs and shuffling undergrowth.  A great form appeared in front of her, about a head taller than she was.  He was on two legs, and using a large but roughly finished metal spear as a walking stick.

  Best of all, he was facing away from her.  She could see the edge of an eye wrapping around his face, but his neck and back was totally exposed.  She could almost smell the jugular blood that was pumping through his neck –

  Focus, Gilda, her mind said.  The griffon hen raised her crossbow, and then pulled the trigger–

  The weapon almost flew out of her grip, such was the recoil.  She’d fired from a bad position – lying down, aiming upwards – but the results had been worth it.  With the blood spraying out of his neck and into his windpipe, there wouldn’t be much chance for him to call out for help.  Already, she could see his movements slow down.

  A slit throat wasn’t an instant kill, as the stories said – usually, it took about 40 seconds for blood loss to kill the victim.  Gilda’s shot had punched through the neck and into the fleshy part of the lower jaw, almost tearing out half his throat.  Even then, it took about 10 seconds of agonising waiting before she was certain her target was dead.

  She glanced to the side.  Hidden at the top of the cliff, Tricks’ frame was composed of shadow, reaching out from the underside of the nearby tree to embrace a sister.  Beside her, still hanging from the tree, was the dog’s body.

  She had to go back and retrieve the crossbow bolt sometime after the mission.  No point wasting money.

  Gilda cast a quick glance out.  Her white feathers, even when covered in muck, acted as beacons that pointed to where her head was.  The less time she spent exposed, the safer she was.

  She tugged the rock hound’s body towards her.  Some collapsing artery splattered blood all over her chest and claws.  She ignored it.

  Rifling through his pockets, she liberated his money, her crossbow bolt and a few other things that looked like good sells –

  “Goldie, get a fucking move on,” Tricks’ voice hissed into her ear from her earpiece.

  The griffon herself sighed, her claws gripping her weapon once more.  She didn’t deign to whisper a reply – Tricks’ cloak had a couple of magical enchantments that made it difficult to spot her sight-wise or sound-wise, but Gilda’s own metal armour was a lot more standard.  She was never the sneaky type, though.

  With a nod, she simply vanished into the foliage once more.