A soft whooshing pop, high overhead, and then the night sky lit up, shadows falling all around the men as they sloshed through the ankle deep glades and waist high grasses. None of them spoke, no one looked to the others wondering what to do, they simply reacted as if it was pure instinct, as though they were bred for this.
Point went down onto his stomach, eyes peering deeper into the night vision, seeking the target, looking for the person who had turned his night into mid-day sun in an effort to end his life. Two-man went to the ground with his right knee, weapon in hand and at the ready, eyes focusing on the darkness of the ridge before them. It is always easier to see shadows moving within the darkness, and that meant that he could direct Three-man to the target.
Three-man was crouched three meters and left of Two-man. Holding onto his SAW like it was a long lost lover. He watched Point’s head move back and forth as he scanned the ridge for the threat. Trees littered the ridge some 60 meters in front of them. Rocks, drug down from the mountains by glaciers eons before this night now offered the threat some cover, and so Three-man cursed the glacier gods for their callousness.
The fourth and final man of the team stood fully erect, daring someone to take a shot at him from anywhere, ridge-line be damned. He was tired of this, tired of the snipers, tired of the mortars, and certainly tired of sleeping on the cold, wet ground while his wife slept alone in a cold bed back home.
“Come on dammit,” Four seethed, and then in a commanding voice he yelled. “Take your shot bastard, I’m here. Do this.”
The three men in front of him all smile, they knew he would snap sooner than later. Point starts to laugh, laying there in the water and muck, grass blades making it hard to see the ridge, but he is laughing and it feels good. Two and Three chance a moment to look at each other, both smiling in their eyes and laughing manically.
“Move dammit, I want that ridge and I want it now,” Four orders his men to their feet.
Point stands, water and mud dripping off of his uniform, and he starts to run for the ridge.
“Everywhere we go… people want to know… who we are… so we tell ’em…” he sings to himself one last time, and his mates sing back in reply as the hail of bullets begins to fall about them, quieting his cadence.
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