Hetman: Hard Kil by Alex Shaw Page B

take up its own position on the other side of the village to watch for any ‘dickers’ – local lookouts or signs of compromise.
    With the engine off and the windows wound down, they waited for several minutes in silence to acclimatise to the stillness of the night. On the same hill as the OP, but the other side of the wood, it was an easy downhill ‘stroll’ to the target. Before moving off Snow attached a suppressor to his SIG Sauer - the Det could not be seen or more importantly heard breaking the ceasefire. He then checked the contents of his pockets; a small Maglite with black tape secured over the lens to make the beam narrower and a point and forget camera loaded with IR film.
    Snow nodded at Fox before silently slipping out of the car. He placed the Balaclava on his head - rolled up like a woolly hat and gently walked away.
    Snow waited until the car was out of sight before pressing the switch on his throat mic. “Radio check.”
    “Check.” Fox’s voice was loud in Snow’s ear. Snow then heard the voices of the others do the same.
    Fox remained static with the car. He would react quickly if either Snow, the team in the Sierra or the OP gave him the signal.
    The cold bit into Snow’s exposed face as he rounded a bend. The hedgerows had given way to low stone walls, which if all went to crap and the shooting started, would at least stop a round. Snow saw the farmhouse. The lights were off and not a sound carried in the still night air. The normal tactical approach to target through the fields had been discounted. Fox had reasoned that the best course of action was for Snow to act like a local. Hands thrust into pockets, head down and heading towards the farmhouse, Snow didn’t like the idea but acknowledged Fox’s greater experience. If Snow was challenged before he reached the target then the operation was over. He felt the weight of the supressed SIG as he walked. If fired upon the official rules of engagement authorised him to return fire, but the politicians on both sides would go ballistic...
    Snow was exposed; this was when a single well placed round could end it all before any of his watchers could warn him. Just a few more steps and he would be hidden. He could feel his heart start to pound and his palms become wet inside his gloves. Snow was opposite the farmhouse now, in the dead-ground caused by the shadows. A hunter’s moon glowed overhead. In the absence of street-lights it was the only source of illumination. Not a sound came from the target and there were no lights visible. Snow fought to control his breathing; the sound amplified in the quietness of the Irish night. In the shadows he crossed the lane and vaulted over the stone-wall. Moments later he pressed his back against the side of the house and held his breath. He was unsighted by the team in the OP but they had an eyeball on the farmyard.
    “Clear.” A voice from the OP in his ear.
    Snow pulled his balaclava down over his face and waited for a further minute. Silence. No lights, no dogs, no shouts, no shots. Gingerly he edged along the wall until he could see around the corner. He placed his hand on the pistol-grip of the SIG and retrieved it from his pocket. Snow took several large breaths, filled his lungs with oxygen and silently walked across the yard. He reached the barn and stood next to the door and pushed. The door opened a fraction and he stepped inside. The OP would have informed him anyone was within the barn, but Snow was taking no chances. With a two handed grip, he swung his SIG left to right as his eyes became more accustomed to the inky darkness. He could make out shapes, a couple of old bails laying hap-hazard in the middle of the floor, the small hay loft above and the far back of the barn.
    Then it all went noisy. There was a warning in his ear as two pairs of feet clattered on the concrete. Snow had a matter of seconds to react. He darted behind a stack of bails and flattened himself into the floor. His SIG was