Navy SEAL Alexander Brandenburg rode north in an old Toyota truck, speeding toward Kahar, Iraq. He checked his watch again, reflexively shielding the dial as he pressed the light button—02h14. He looked up from his watch to his tobacco-chewing sniper mentor, Chief Petty Officer Jack "Jabberwocky" Lee. "You're gonna slay 'em, kid," Jabberwocky whispered in Alex's ear, referring to the Shiite terrorists in Kahar. "You know why?"
Alex shook his head and smiled, then realized Jabberwocky couldn't see him in the dark. "No. Why?"
Jabberwocky spit a stream of tobacco juice out the window of the truck before answering. "Because you were taught by the best."
Silence ruled as they entered Kahar. The Toyota rolled quietly through the deserted streets. Inside of a minute they reached the upper-class neighborhood. Alex slung his sniper rifle over his left shoulder before pulling his sound-suppressed SIG Sauer P-226 Navy 9mm pistol out of its holster and clicking the safety off. Nodding at Jabberwocky in the dark, he opened his door. The interior cabin light did not come on, since Jabberwocky had made sure it was switched off before they left. “Details, young Jedi, details.”
The truck slowed to five miles per hour. Alex took a breath and slipped out into the night as the truck picked up speed and continued on. He quickly jogged to the edge of the nearest wall, where he slid into the shadows. Had anyone seen him? He waited fifteen minutes, prepared to shoot anything that moved, but Kahar showed no signs of being aware of his arrival. Alex flipped down the night-vision goggles on his helmet and the world took on a greenish hue. He scanned the area. Spotting nothing untoward, he stepped into an alley off the road and followed it as it ran behind the houses. Most of the lights were out and he couldn’t make out any talking over the sound of his own breathing. He crouched down in a pile of rubbish, his camouflage clothing and painted skin helping him blend in. He adjusted the sling on his sniper rifle, realizing it was like carrying a death sentence on his back. The enemy hated snipers. If he were captured he would likely face torture, and then execution—the only good sniper is the one on your side.