Then Tartan’s head exploded. Splattered with his brain, skin, blood and skull fragments, the Floodians broke into a panic. All of them began swearing and shouting at the top of their lungs, knocking over the table and grabbing as much of their equipment as they could. One over-eager volunteer, standing next to Corbec, (who was sheltering behind a tree,) hefted his M60 and proceeded to blast away whole belts of ammunition into the trees, destroying saplings, throwing up clods of earth and ripping chunks out of older trees. Then with another [i]crack[/i] his throat was shot out. As the boy toppled backward with a torrent of blood pouring from his throat, Corbec noticed what had happened. There was a sniper out there somewhere, picking them off. Fortunately by now, the others had caught on and dived behind cover. Risking more sniper fire, Corbec stretched out an arm and gripped onto the dying volunteer, then dragged him over. The boy’s face had gone pale from blood loss, and his mouth clacked silent curses-his vocal chords had been shot out with just about every artery and vein in his throat it seemed. Noting the damage dealt, Corbec knew the kid wasn’t going to see the next morning. He reached for his radio earpiece and secured a link between him and JS alone. “JS! JS! You there?” “Yeah, what is it? More importantly, where are you?” “I’m behind cover, and I’ve got a man down. He took a shot to the throat, looks serious.” Corbec glanced at Tartan’s slumped form. “Should I send someone over? I’ll ignore Tartan, looks to me like he’s dead as a doorknob.” JS observed. “You think?” Corbec sneered, cramming as much sarcasm into his tone of voice as possible. “Look, I’ve got orders for you. I’m going out there after this sniper guy, and I'm going to take him out. You’re going to take the survivors and head back to the hill where we left our ammo drop. Hold up there and I’ll come over to you eventually. If I don’t come back or if you don’t hear from me in six hours, assume I died.” “But what about that wounded guy you were on about?” JS asked. Corbec didn’t notice that JS didn’t show concern for him. “He’s already dead.” Corbec said, then broke the connection. The gunshot victim had indeed died of blood loss while Corbec and JS were talking, and already Corbec was snatching as much of his equipment as he needed. Corbec’s trusty AK was slung over his shoulder, so he was alright as far as weaponry was concerned. However, Corbec pilfered the night-vision goggles and grenades that the dead man had left behind, also “borrowing” the volunteer’s compact climbing tool and ammo webbing. After putting on his new webbing, Corbec took a moment to carefully adjust his battered pair of sunglasses. He took a calming breath in, then broke cover. Running to his right-and away from the group-he was ducked down low as he dashed for a stand of tropical Sterculia Foetida bushes, recognisable for the radiant shape its leaves took. As he scrambled for the concealment, there was the [i]crack[/i] of the sniper’s rifle firing and a bullet zipped by, gouging a hole in a nearby Jelutong tree. Leaves tumbled lazily down from its boughs in response. Corbec smiled. From the corner of his eye, he’d spotted the muzzle flash of the unseen assailant. The shooter had taken up a position on the third branch from the ground of some broad-leafed tropical tree. Corbec dived into the Sterculia bushes and went prone while facing where the muzzle flash had last been. If the sniper had any common sense about him, then he would adjust his position before taking another shot. Better still, given the sniper had lost the element of surprise, he or she would withdraw immediately. Clearly the person wasn’t that much of an idiot, as Corbec faintly spotted the silhouette of a person dropping down cautiously from branch to branch. Corbec decided to wait for a few minutes before proceeding. Having spent time as a sniper himself, he knew they were shrewd people, and had no intention of being drawn into one of their traps. JS096 was pissed. Not in the drunk sense, just that Corbec had run off like that again. If the guy just kept gallivanting around, then JS would never get the chance he needed to kill the bastard. He and the survivors were still in their positions, huddled behind trees or using mirrors to scan around the sides without poking their heads out. Remaining there for the next ten minutes, JS finally distributed Corbec’s order. But he had plans of his own. “What do you mean you’re going after him?” Girly Spartan exclaimed, borderline horrified. “I’m going to stop-” JS pulled up short of saying [i]“that dumb prick.”[/i] “I’m going to stop Corbec from getting himself killed.” JS said, lying through his teeth. Of course he wasn’t going to save Corbec, if he had a chance where none of the blasted cameras were watching, he’d shoot the bastard. Heck, he might even act like a retard and make things easier for the enemy to waste him. “At least take some of us with you.” Girly pleaded. “You need everyone you have to secure that hill, Girly. Besides, I’ll be faster alone.” “But-” Girly started. “Girly Spartan, you have command until I return. I’ll try my best to get in contact with you while I’m out there.” Before Girly Spartan could protest anymore, JS was gone. Then it rained. An early sign of the coming wet season that would drench tropical climes such as this in a few weeks time, came sweeping in. This wasn’t rain by the standards of people from temperate regions though. This was a persistent, seemingly never-ending deluge, as if an entire ocean had risen from its depths and suddenly decided to plunge on this tiny landmass. Like standing underneath a waterfall, the vast, broad-leafed trees that made up most of the tropical forest were the only thing providing any kind of cover for anyone caught in the downpour. This frustrated JS’ efforts more than if an entire army of clowns or other such misfits bore down on him in an attempt to kill him with a wide variety weapons while he traversed a bottomless pit packed to capacity with broken glass on a tight rope. With a unicycle. And as anyone who has attempted to do such a feat can tell you, it’s pretty tough. JS had been following three sets of footprints in the ground for about an hour now, and at first it hadn’t been so hard. Then the rains came. At the start, it was clear that two of them had received attempts to be removed, but JS was a professional and saw through the clumsy efforts. One was clearly Corbec’s track, and one had to be the sniper, yet JS was stumped as to who’s the third was. The problem was, the rain was threatening to wash these tracks away… Again, the machete was swinging in to lop his head off. Again, he ducked low and rolled aside to avoid the inevitable downward cleave. But even as he used his momentum to propel himself onto his feet, the viciously sharp knife was sailing in for a stab at his gut. He manoeuvred his AK47 around to deflect the jab, the blade bouncing off of the barrel. He sidestepped another swing of the machete, and this time the weapon lodged in the sucking, muddy earth. Corbec grinned triumphantly, the rain plastering his hair to his head, and bashed the owner in the face with the butt of his AK. The man tumbled onto his rear, gasping as he dropped his machete from one hand and his knife from the other. Corbec was ready to mash a hole in the downed fighter’s forehead with the butt of his gun when the [i]crack[/i] of the damned sniper’s rifle sounded out again. Corbec threw himself backwards, and the poorly-aimed shot whistled into the jungle beyond. Eager to get to safety, Corbec ran to a wide, fallen tree, one end decorated with a bush of dead roots, the other with snapped, withered branches like skeletal fingers. He bounded over it and sheltered behind, even as another bullet whickered by, barely missing his head. The log lay across one side of a more-or-less circular clearing in the forest. However, while no trees grew there, the branches and boughs above still reached over to jealously shield the clearing’s ground from the sky. Corbec, sodden with rainwater, was now wearing his night-vision goggles. It was simply too dark and dim to see anything in detail for him, so even the sickly green hue and fuzzy quality that came with the goggles was better than nothing. For about the last half an hour now, he’d been stuck in these running skirmishes. And the order of the day was always the same. He would follow their tracks, then, the person with the machete and knife would ambush him out of the blue. Invariably, Corbec managed to stave off the surprise attacks, but then the sniper was always there to save the day. Corbec knew that as soon as he beat the first attacker, the sniper would have a perfect angle of fire onto him, as he wouldn’t be caught up in close combat with the sniper’s friend. This was exemplified by what had happened just now. Corbec fought off another ambush, but as soon as he had the upper hand, the sniper also could take a shot without the risk of hitting a friend. What happened afterward was predictable stuff as well. The sniper would carry on plugging put-shots away at him to keep him pinned so his ally could either withdraw, or move on to try and flank him. So, here he was. Trapped in a stalemate he saw no easy end to. [Edited on 08.21.2007 1:23 AM PDT]