“Hey, Espinosa,” A jaunty voice crackled across the radio, “Lovely day for a coup, isn’t it?”
From where Charlie was perched, flat on his belly, peering down the scope of his trusty M40, he could see the faint outline of the other sniper in a fourth story window, tracking the movements of the military parade below. “You’re visible, by the way. I don’t think they have any overwatch today, but you may wanna take a step back.”
The pair were sweating their asses off in a muggy Columbian summer’s day, carefully watching the proceedings happening below. They were there to cause a little havoc and mayhem--by murdering the newest head of state so someone who pulled the strings could put their own puppet behind the podium.
Espinosa would take the killing shot, they’d been told in the briefing. She was the more accurate of the pair. It was his job to make it messy enough it didn’t look like the man speaking to the crowd from the stage was targeted purposefully. Elsewhere around the city square, a demolitions team was readying an explosive charge, that was being set off to destroy the scene and evidence of their deeds, and give everyone a chance to get to the exfil site.
Fucked as it was to say, Charlie didn’t mind these missions as much. It wasn’t that far off from his time in the Marines, in all honesty. Just clearing away one bad man for another, US-sanctioned bad man to take his place. Better than some of the missions they’d been put on. But if they didn’t do it, someone else would, so they might as well get paid. He already had too much red in his ledger, anyways.