[More to Come.]

Kiyabako Central Plaza

First Anti-Air Battery Emplacement

Kate bounded from car to car, trying to avoid an imaginary line of sight that she had pictured being somewhere within the central plaza as she neared her insertion point. Her path to the alley was a clear, straight shot, which she deemed all but safe as she observed it, poking her head around the bumper of the Genet that was shielding her from plain sight. She double-checked the 3-dimensional mini-map in her VISR NAV; it yielded a solitary red diamond inching along the solid blue line representing the alleyway. In a few short moments, the source emerged at the mouth of the alley: a lone Unggoy sentry.

The specialist inched her head back behind the Genet. The Grunt simply stuck its muzzled snout to the air, sniffed a few times, then started to hobble back down the alley. On cue, Kate rose out of cover and followed in a low sprint, putting the brakes on just before she collided with the wall. She peered around the corner, noting that the Grunt was half way back to the plaza's interior by now, waddling toward open ground on his stubby legs. Before it could come any closer to finishing his rounds, Vansen turned the corner with her M7S ready-low, barely making a sound as she caught up with him.

Matching the Grunt's pace (close enough to hear him murmuring under his mask) she reached out for the point on its angular methane tank, leveled her weapon's suppressed barrel at the base of its neck, and then squeezed the trigger. The alien barely made a sound as the shot exited the other side with a misty spray of blue gore. Vansen caught the body, yanking it back with her free hand before it hit the asphalt.

"Vansen—one down," she hissed into her mic as she lowered the Unggoy by its heavy methane tank. From afar they didn't seem like much in size or weight, but up close was a different story.

"Copy," came Shepard's reply, and just on schedule. "I just got to my floor and I'm about to set up. Over."

That meant the next step was making sure Bowski got on his position without trouble, a step which, according to Kate's IFF tags, was slowly progressing as he and Gomez were rushing side by side to the apartment complex just off a few meters from the entrance of the plaza. Step three could never come fast enough, she thought, lowering herself to a knee behind the Unggoy corpse and facing front toward the objective.

Her hands were shaking now, as they always would at the start of a plan. At the very beginning of an operation there was so little room for error; so much that had to be done before a team had enough space to maneuver comfortably and have less risk imposed upon them. One slip up—one footstep, one scrape or scuff, one misplaced shot—and the whole plan could be compromised.

A heavy hand fell on Kate's shoulder, causing her to clench her teeth in surprise. "Tag," Raul whispered, emerging into her peripheral and kneeling down beside her. "You're it."

Vansen took a breath and lowered her SMG. "Funny," she said with a forced smile. "How's Bowski doing?"

"He's on his way—shouldn't be long now."

On her HUD's overhead map, the chevron representing the demo specialist kept zig-zagging against the apartment wall, seemingly going nowhere. That's not right, she thought while shooting a glance at Gomez, her furrowed brow and inquisitive shrug asking the question for her.

Raul slacked his shoulders. "Fire escape."

Kate couldn't help but smile at the notion—like a hulking crab trying to climb a set of stairs. She turned her head to the side and chinned her comm. "Hey, Bowski. You okay?"

"I hate stairs," he said flatly.

"It's good cardio. Keep it up, you're almost there."

"Thanks, mom."

Vansen concluded the exchange with a quiet yet perky chuckle before ceasing traffic. From the corner of her eye, she could see Raul shaking his head at the specialist's girlish demeanor—a shimmer of her former self as a pre-enlistee, that tender, caring role she loved to play.

From early schooling to boot camp and field work, she took it upon herself to make sure her friends were at their best, a feat that did well in carrying the team during past hardships. One operation shouldn't be any different, she kept telling herself. Sergeant Tanner's absence was an unnerving void in team efficiency. Simply knowing that he was dead made her feel like the floor was coming out from beneath her, that reality shifted once again. And his death was worse, she knew, for Ryan to take in and move past; his admiration for Tanner bordered father-son, and being next in line with rank made things harder. For as great a soldier that the Lance Corporal proved himself to be, Ryan simply wasn't ready for a leadership role.

Kate blackened her visor once again, hefting her M7 in one hand while slapping Raul's arm with the other. "Come on. Let's go save the world."

"Oh, joy."

Ryan was hard-locked on his position, standing a good five paces from the window, rifle level, sights focusing in on Bowski's assigned vantage point across the plaza. Usually seen as a bad idea for sniping, firing from a standing position with the SRS wasn't as difficult as Drill Sergeants shouted it out to be; the weapon's design was meant to dampen the initial surge of recoil, and with his tone and form he was a master at accurately firing on his feet. The real challenge was hiding the length of the barrel, especially one equipped with a suppressor—a muffler for the signature .50 caliber howl, but also another twelve inches of barrel extension for the enemy to look at. He hadn't been spotted, by ground patrols or the Jackal overwatch, so he was doing well thus far.

"I got eyes on the Jackal sniper in your zone, Paul," he reported.

"What's he doing?"

"Just standing watch. How close are you?"

"Just reached the floor now. I'm a stone's throw away."

It took Ryan three seconds to comfortably line a shot onto the alien sniper's cranium. Now came the waiting part, he thought as the Oracle's reticule danced over the target's bird head. The scope magnified the Jackal to the point where Ryan could clearly see its natural, toothy expression and cycloptic headgear that shone a dim purple in the daylight. It didn't take ONI specialists for a grunt to take a guess and say that the alien headgear was not unlike their own rangefinder, augmenting the Kig-Yar's already keen sight. To Ryan, it was little more than a target now.

"Vansen—in position."

The marksman pressed his jaw to the comm pad awkwardly; he wasn't about to lose a perfect shot over a phone call. "Copy. Nice timing, Kate. How are things looking?"

"Guard duty's still watching their Ghosts, but it won't be long before they start wondering why the sentry's not reporting; Shade turret on the corner's still unmanned, and I count three more Grunts around the corner. No eyes are on you just yet."

"How about that sniper over team one—what's he doing?"

"Standing watch. Hold." There was a short pause in radio traffic. "He's moving. Now, take the shot."

That was all he needed to hear. "Alright. Bowski," he called, nuzzling his shoulder against the S2's stock. "Taking the shot in three. Be ready."

"Copy."

Before slipping his finger into the trigger ring, the Lance Corporal rolled his neck and comfortably rested his head against the rifle stock. The Jackal had barely moved, displaying remarkable composure, the one thing he envied of the Kig-Yar aside from their naturally keen sight. He took in a long breath and held it, then released in a slow exhale, steadying his shot as he drew back on the trigger.

The rifle made a loud, but muffled spiff and through his scope Ryan saw a cloud of blood burst from the other side of his target's chest as it crashed to the floor in a violent twirl.

"Hostile down," he reported.