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Elephant Aardvark
The
sweat was starting to fog his goggles. Flies swarmed around his head.
The slightest shift of movement crackled the dry grass. The barren
trees gave no shade against the sun. His breath was hot inside the
helmet.
The
enemy patrol crept only yards away. Tight formation. Barrels steadily
sweeping the brush. The point-man gave the hand signal for a stop.
These guys were pros; they must have sensed something was off.
Scorpio
had his orders; wait until the patrol entered the bottleneck. But he
knew that things had just become now-or-never.
Leaping
from his cover with a roar, the trigger on his weapon squeezed tight,
Scorpio lasted about 4 seconds before he started taking hits and his
camo jacket was covered in bright yellow splotches of paint.
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