Snow

Snow. So soft. So soothing.

The ghost re-aligned his scope. He hadn’t predicted the clouds to blow over as quick as they did, but it didn’t trouble him. He was a professional.

Four kilometres away, three marines lounged around a fire. Two of them smoked, small wispy trails accompanying the wood fire. The other scanned the hills surrounding them with a pair of binoculars. He didn’t expect to see anything. It had been years since the rebels showed themselves. The conflict, if it could be called that, was almost non-existent. The task force assigned to the elimination of the rebels was a fraction of forces set on other previous core worlds during the war. Chau Sara. Mar Sara. Tarsonis. This, pathetically, was the most action they could get.

A slight breeze ruffled the thick grass the ghost was covered in. Invisible. He waited patiently until the wind died down. He wouldn’t give up so easily.

The marine with the binoculars didn’t give up either. The other two mocked him for his vigilance. The rebel forces hadn’t troubled the Dominion. Nor should they. The Dominion is as strong as ever. The marine with the binoculars didn’t give them heed and for good reason…

The wind died down. The ghost zoomed in as far as the scope would take him. The faces of the individual marines flashed on his scope. The insignia of the Dominion shining brightly on their chest armour, rifles slung across their backs. The ghost smirked at the marine scanning the hills for scouts and waited for him to turn around. The marine obliged.

In one fluid motion, the ghost fired three shots. The first hadn’t hit its mark yet, and the second was already on the way. The ghost had trained for years to perfect the manoeuvre and it paid off. In seconds, the three marines hit the floor, their bodies lying askew beside the fire. The ghost stood up.

“It’s done,” he spoke into his mic.

The two cigarettes extinguished.