Cut Throats



The twin suns hovered ever so slightly in the distance. An incandescent, orange gleam all but comforted the mountainous horizon in the west. In a shallow crater immediately to the south, small outpost was lit with oriental-style paper lanterns, each containing a high-efficiency light-emitting diode. The thick fog failed to conceal these lights to a group of stalkers amidst the mouth of the natural dug out.

The only sounds that could be heard were the occasional animal call and thump of a boot. A trained mind would know that said calls were artificial, used only to cloak the noise of movement. Shortly thereafter, all went silent. "Engage."

Controlled chaos.

Dozens of streaks illuminated the crisp dawn air between the men and women at the crater's rim and the semi-permanent shacks they faced. This was not to the attacker's plan, however. They had hoped to use their silenced arms to eliminate the opposing threat, but a sentry of sorts had alerted the encampment.

As the shots continually traded, a handful of the operators slid ever so smoothly into the town below and began to search out vulnerable hostiles. Each was quietly put to silence via breaking of the neck or at the knife's blade. Less than two minutes later, an unknown commander spoke once again.

"Oly Oly Oxen Free."