Dropped straight into the heart of enemy territory. Crawling three kilometers over six days through Russian wilderness. Dragging along a 15kg Intervention sniper rifle. Not getting spotted by a single patrol en route.

That was how damn good Lt. “Osprey” Michelson was. But of course, they’d send only the best—this one shot could turn the tide of the entire war. And he’d never missed a single shot in his life.

He sighted down the scope, found his target.

A gaunt, pale man in dark clothing flanked by four guards. Behind him, a banner that read ‘Truth and Justice’ flapped in the wind.

I’ll send ‘Truth and Justice’ flying through your skull, Osprey thought grimly.

He let the crosshairs drift and come to rest on the man’s chest.

Held his breath.

This one’s for every man and woman you killed.

He pulled—

Click.

Click?

He looked up from the scope.

I forgot to load the rifle?

Froze. Remembered, suddenly—

His ammuniton was sixteen thousand miles away. In the SAS armory. Where he’d left it.

Fuck.