Hmmmmmm, well this'll be an interesting exercise, lessee.... ---
He really couldn't run anymore (that is, not to the extent they were supposed to) and extended periods in the kneeling or sitting position was basically out of the question. So when the platoon was told they had three days to stalk and shoot him, they all kind of boggled. Sure he wasn't that old, but with all the wounds he'd sustained during his time with the Wreckers, there was no way he'd be able to stand up to the combined talents of five young and eager sniper teams.
Each pair parachuted into the wilderness, prepared their camouflage then began to track and kill their target.
By the afternoon on the third day two teams were done in by traps, one spotter by a headshot (his partner eventually tracked down and also shot in the head), another pair shot in the back and the last team was fooled by a decoy and ended up being beaten into submission.
Sandstorm returned with all ten sniper-hopefuls, all the while explaining where each of them went wrong and what he had done right. At their frustrated expressions, though, he stopped the lot of them and shook his head, muttering about his getting soft in his old age.
"Lemme tell you something else that'll keep you alive as long on the field as I was. Sniping and stalking is an old skill and I know you've always been taught that, except for the most necessary equipment," Sandstorm indicated to their weaponry, armor and visors, "you want to be as low tech as possible.
"That being said," he stepped up to the nearest sniper, crouching down to view her uniform from the knees below. Eventually he plucked a tiny tracking transmitter from where it had clung between her trousers and her boots, "laying out little traps like these where you know someone that's after you is going to go through isn't cheating, it's thinking smarter than the other guy."
Ten jaws dropped. Then everyone started checking their legs for more transmitters. Sandstorm chuckled, starting off again. "Creativity and adaptation," he said over his shoulder, "is why the strong survive."
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timeasmymeasure
Sandstorm - 45
Date: 2009-09-08 05:04 am (UTC)---
He really couldn't run anymore (that is, not to the extent they were supposed to) and extended periods in the kneeling or sitting position was basically out of the question. So when the platoon was told they had three days to stalk and shoot him, they all kind of boggled. Sure he wasn't that old, but with all the wounds he'd sustained during his time with the Wreckers, there was no way he'd be able to stand up to the combined talents of five young and eager sniper teams.
Each pair parachuted into the wilderness, prepared their camouflage then began to track and kill their target.
By the afternoon on the third day two teams were done in by traps, one spotter by a headshot (his partner eventually tracked down and also shot in the head), another pair shot in the back and the last team was fooled by a decoy and ended up being beaten into submission.
Sandstorm returned with all ten sniper-hopefuls, all the while explaining where each of them went wrong and what he had done right. At their frustrated expressions, though, he stopped the lot of them and shook his head, muttering about his getting soft in his old age.
"Lemme tell you something else that'll keep you alive as long on the field as I was. Sniping and stalking is an old skill and I know you've always been taught that, except for the most necessary equipment," Sandstorm indicated to their weaponry, armor and visors, "you want to be as low tech as possible.
"That being said," he stepped up to the nearest sniper, crouching down to view her uniform from the knees below. Eventually he plucked a tiny tracking transmitter from where it had clung between her trousers and her boots, "laying out little traps like these where you know someone that's after you is going to go through isn't cheating, it's thinking smarter than the other guy."
Ten jaws dropped. Then everyone started checking their legs for more transmitters. Sandstorm chuckled, starting off again. "Creativity and adaptation," he said over his shoulder, "is why the strong survive."