Long Distance Dedication (Hobbs, Dante)

[David Cortes]

David grinned as he drove away from the lighthouse on the far end of the island on an ATV (that he... borrowed from the hunter's garage). It had taken a while, but he finally figured out how they could actually do the competition. The island wasn't large, but there were parts that were just wide enough to be considered a kilometer. Preferably, this kind of competition could be done in a place like 39 Palms or Paris Island, but nothing they could do about it. It was what they had, and besides, it was going to be fun! And a great way to earn a beer tab.

Driving to the small ranger station at the opposite end of the island, (he had made sure no one was in it today.) he looked over to the city. It was roughly 5 in the afternoon, and it would be dusk soon. He had set up the competition so the sun would be behind them, and no one's shot would be inhibited by the damn thing shining into their eyes. It was never fun to snipe facing the direction of the sun (a lesson he learned the hard way.) Stopping, he smiled and looked up, where he saw Hobbs and Dante waiting. Slinging his rifle onto his back (which he had silenced. It wasn't optimal to snipe with a silencer on but given the locale and the proximity to the city it would be unwise to not use it) he climbed up the stairs and greeted his two hunters.

"Sup guys" He grinned, then grabbed the binoculars from his neck and handed them to Stark. "See the lighthouse over there? Take a look."

At the old lighthouse, a total of 12 full soda cans sat on the edge of the walkway that circled the rotating light. Six were Coca-Cola cans, and six were Pepsi cans. "The rules are simple. First one to take down all six, with minimal amount of bullets fired, wins. Remember, we live pretty close to the city, so we'll want to finish this before the cops arrive." He grinned. "You're rifle's silenced right?" He asked Hobbs as he set up his sniper's perch on the table next to the window he had opened. He used a model m21 sniper rifle, basically a modified m14, with a standard adjustable sniper scope. Usually, he'd have a thermal scope on it as well, but seeing as how they were shooting cans it seemed rather irrelevant. Setting up the bipod and adjusting the scope for windage and elevation, he chuckled slightly.

"You ready to pay my tab Hobbs? We start on Stark's go." He grinned. He really shouldn't be so over confident, but he knew he would drop the act as soon as the bullets started firing. Once the command was given, it was no longer about smoking and joking. It was about taking down the targets. Something he happened to be very good at.

[Hazel 'Hobbs' Yeung]

Hazel Yeung had joined the party with a HK417 slung across her back, twenty inch barrel and her usual infrared sniper scope switched out for a custom-made zoom magnification telescopic sight and a sound suppressor. The Heckler and Koch was the rifle used by the Britsh SAS, and was what Hobbs had used for most of her career thus far. That the SAS used the Heckler and Koch wasn’t to say that it was a better rifle, since there was no best rifle when it came to sniping. The ony best rifle was the one the individual sniper felt more comfortable using, and was the most experience with. The HK417 was a thing of marvel in her hands, but Cortes may not have fared so well. Similarly, Hobbs wouldn’t be used to the M21, and wouldn’t be as good using it. Personally though, Hobbs trusted German manufacturing over US craftsmanship any day.

She gave Cortes a casual salute as he drew near, then adjusted the brim of the black baseball cap that she'd stuck on to avoid the glare of the sun. Thank God she wouldn't be shooting into it.
"Silenced and ready to go," she confirmed, sticking her hands back into the pockets of her cargo shorts.

You ready to pay my tab Hobbs? We start on Stark's go.
Hobbs shot Stark a sideways look and gave him a half-shrug as she dropped to her knees in the grass beside Cortes. Pulling the Heckler and Koch from her back, she flopped down onto her stomach, propped herself up on her elbows and said, "Juuust gimme a minute."

Sniping was a bit of an art form. There was so much to consider and factor in about the mental state of the sniper, from breathing to the process to the emotion. Marksmanship also had a kind of mathematics to it, the ability to calculate wind speed, wind direction, range, target movement, light source, temperature, barometric pressure and so on, to such a degree of accuracy, and to factor in these variables when taking the shot. Hobbs tended to experience extreme situational awareness and a sort of tunnel vision whenever she was laid out with her finger on the trigger.

Hobbs was a natural number-crunching genius, hands steady as a rock from years of constructing microtechnology with little more than glorified tweezers. She was calm and collected. Sniping was Hobbs’ natural and preferred position in a battle. She knew fighters like Moore and Stark liked to get right in there, feel the blood on their face and smell the copper iron tang as it gushed from their enemies bodies, but Hobbs felt better off stationed away from it all, on the outside, looking in. Observing without participating. It also had something to do with the fact that she never felt truly good enough to really run with the big boys, as it were, considering she was one limb and a couple of pints of blood down. Sniping was the best way she could help without being a big fat dollop of dead weight.

"Alright," Hobbs said, having set up and adjusted her scope zoom. "I'm ready."

[Dante Stark]

Stark had left the pub and had followed Cortes directions to the arranged place. Stark drove over the speed limit and finally made it to the place, there was an old light house nearby and Stark grinned as he tightened up his jacket and stood idly by waiting for Cortes, second to arrive was Hobbs they briefly talked until the man of the hour had arrived.
"Alright, let's do this i want to get shitfaced.. I guess the rules are.. If we get caught by any police we know nothing now let's get this game one. "
Stark smiled and watched as the two got into position.

Stark counted in his head for a full two minutes in silence letting the two prepare themselves for what was about to go down.. Stark had no favorites yet but it was surely going to be a good competition and he'd probably have pegged Hobbs to win, but he was sure Cortes could have been the dark horse to took the lead..

Stark raised his arm and counted to three loudly, he dropped his arm and called out.. " Vuur je geweren." Stark paused for a moment before recalling out "Fire your rifles." He'd smirked as he watched the competition unfold before his very eyes.

[David Cortes]

David listened to Stark's command, but did not fire right away. Instead, he took time to steady his breathing, and fired his first round. It was a sloppy hit, the top corner of the can, causing it to spill its contents and fall onto the ground, but it was a hit. He then shifted his rifle and locked his sights on the next target. Again, steady, even breaths. As he exhaled slowly, he fired.

Dammit, a gust of wind hit that he didn't calibrate for. The bullet went clear over the can and hit the light of the lighthouse. Oops. Not thinking much on it, he simply re-adjusted for wind-age, using the small markings on the scope instead of adjusting the thing entirely. Another shot. Another hit. He shifted again. Aim, steady breathing, fire. Third can down. Dammit, he'd fired four shots already and was only halfway done. He was already in the red...

Forgetting the fact that he was down one bullet, he took aim and fired. 5th shot, 4th hit. All right, he could still win this. Shifting again, he repeated the pattern and fired. Another coke can down. Finally, last bullet. This one had to be perfect. He ignored all other sounds, and put all his focus onto this one last shot. He exhaled lightly as he squeezed the trigger, sending the last round firing through the air and causing the last can to explode in it's heavily carbonated, pent up glory.

"Bam! Done!" He grinned as he pushed his chair back and raised his hands. Had he won? He couldn't tell, Hobbs had basically finished around the same time. He hadn't heard an extra bullets fired from her, as he had been so focused on his own shooting he stopped paying attention to her.

"What was the time and shot count?"

[Hazel 'Hobbs' Yeung]

She’d already lined up her first shot by the time Dante called the contest beginning.

There was a different type of emotional and mental strain to being a sniper than just as soldier. As a soldier you were part of a unit and the danger tended to be very in-your-face. As a sniper it was typically just you and a spotter. The real difference though was that a soldier could unload his clip into a crowd of enemies and never know whether it was him or his squad mates that killed the enemy. Snipers and assassins knew their targets. They watched them, lined up a shot, and they knew that they were taking a life. They knew exactly when their target went down. That was something Hobbs had become strangely comfortable with over the years.

The second she put her eye to the scope, she was Lieutenant Yeung again. She remembered the blazing heat of the Afghan desert, and everything seemed to halt. Her mind went into overdrive as she held her fire even as Cortes rang off his first shot. She inhaled deeply, calculated. Wind speed: eleven and a half miles per hour; a little higher than average for this time of year, but probably because they weren’t in the mainland. Wind direction: west northwest. Temperature: twenty degrees Celsius, give or take a few. Barometric pressure: 1017 hectopascal. Adjust slightly to the right, realign.

She squeezed her finger back on the trigger. The first can was a near-perfect bullseye, and it went spinning backwards off the parapet.
Next. Recalculate, accommodate for wind speed, fire. Another one dropped. Then another. Her next bullet was caught off by the gust of wind but managed to clip the left side of the can; good thing she’d aimed to the right. Not to be deterred by the wind picking up, she aimed at her last can, and fired the bullet which took out the one next to it. She was now down to her sixth and last can. She had no idea how Cortes was doing.

She felt the wind against the backs of her hands as she breathed in slowly. If she wasn’t careful the wind would blow her bullet right off-course. When she felt a momentary lull in the breeze, Hobbs fired off her final bullet; a solid hit that punched a hole right through the centre of the Pepsi can logo before it exploded in a spray of brown fizz.
Hobbs let out her breath in a short, sharp burst.

Bam! Done!

Hobbs lifted her head and stared out towards the lighthouse.

[Dante Stark]

Stark watched both snipers take their shots, he'd covered his ears as he observed very closely. Cortes was something.. But Hobbs took him out in a flash, Stark waited until they'd both started to pack up and walked closer to them. "Well, Ladies and gentleman... It appears as if Mr. Cortes will be paying for a long tab, and overall our winner is Ms Hobbs.. It was a brilliant contest but all good things." Stark said slyly as he placed his hands in his jacket..

There wasn't much else they could do now, he'd observed the sky and the afternoon had gone on quiet well.. Soon they could all be out slamming back shots and various other alcoholic drinks together, in some twisted way Stark thought of Hobbs and Cortes like his own surrogate family seeing as they all had been war veterans, It was nice to know he had people he could turn to and he'd need these two in his life more than a few times.

"Let's all go to the Winchester then.." Stark said laughing slightly to himself and then rezipping his jacket up and walking towards his car.

[David Cortes]

Fuck.

You've got to be fucking kidding me. Cortes thought to himself, and his face showed it. He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily as he rolled his head back, his hands covering his face. "Awww dammit..." David groaned. He shouldn't have been as cocky. Hobbs basically made him eat his words. How'd she learn to shoot like that? That's when he realized... she used to sniping for hunting missions... How the fuck did he not take that into mental account?

Sighing as he rolled his head back straight, he looked at Hobbs and half chuckled, half exhaled. "I guess I didn't give ya enough credit. Now I know better." He grinned lightly, then looked over at Dante. "The Winchester? What is this, Shaun of the Dead? We gonna save your 'mum' and ex-girlfriend on the way and wait out the zombie apocalypse?" He chuckled. "Ah sure, why not. I hope I still have enough left over from my deployment bonus..."

As he quickly packed up his rifle, he walked down the stairs following Dante and placed his gear on the ATV. "Ya'll can go ahead, I'm gonna shower and change first, then I'll catch up. I don't like to go to a bar smelling like gunpowder and medical antiseptic thank you." He chuckled, as he turned on the ATV. Still, his one comforting thought was the fact that Hobbs happened to be a short, skinny Chinese girl. How much could she possibly drink?

[Dante Stark]

Stark finally arrived back at the compound hoping Cortes and Hobbs would be ready for their own little night on the town.. Stark had changed completely he was now wearing his black jeans and a black t-shirt.. He didn't have his leather jacket instead changing it for his other jacket.. Stark sat on the bonnet of his car as he opened his phone and texted Hobbs and Cortes.

"Hobbs and Cortes sitting in the parking garage how are we going about travelling to and from bars tonight, i can drive drunk but if you want we can all cram into my car.. Or what not just hurry up I'm bored and sober..

Stark x"

Dante slowly tapped his feet on his car as he waited for the pair to meet him.. Of course it would be fun all three of them getting smashed together and having an all good time.. And it meant Stark could spend some more time with Hobbs.. and Cortes although he was more interested in hanging out with Hobbs as she was someone he was quiet close to just her not knowing how close Stark wanted to be to her. Dante sighed loudly as he turned on his radio and sat there jamming to whatever tunes came on.

"Well this is appealing fun.." He said to himself coldly as he went to the trunk and grabbed one of his beers out of his cool box and popped the cap off as he sat on the bonnet once more this time he sipped his beer to cure his boredom.

[Hazel 'Hobbs' Yeung]

It appears as if Mr. Cortes will be paying for a long tab, and overall our winner is Ms Hobbs.

She’d... won?

Hobbs exhaled deeply as she sat back on her heels, picking up her rifle as she did so. Really? She’d won against the sniper specialist who’d been so up his own arse about his skill?
Nice.
She turned towards Cortes, her hands forming the rock sign, and she stuck her tongue out at him gloatingly. “Suck it, Cortes!” she laughed, “Prepare to have your pockets emptied.” Hobbs was a hell of a drinker. Not as much as she used to be now that she was half a limb and two pints of blood down, but she still had the drinking skill honed by her through years of going to university in York. Of course, Cortes didn’t know that she was military-trained; perhaps he’d just underestimated her. Well, Hobbs for one was fine with being viewed as just the tiny Chinese cripple. It gave her an edge, the element of surprise. And that could only ever work in her favour.

Briefly battling a war against her stiff mechanical knee, Hobbs got to her feet again, slinging the rifle triumphantly across her back. Cortes said he wanted to go change and have a shower, and Hobbs couldn’t argue with that line of logic. She could do with a fresh change of clothes herself, but she’d prefer to walk. She wanted to take a detour to the Memorial Cemetery anyway, see if she could find a grave she’d been looking for.

And so, some time later after a brief shower and a new change of clothes, Hobbs received the message as she was locking up her bedroom. A change of clothes, to her, didn’t mean that she’d put on something slinky to go out drinking with. In fact the exact opposite; she’d pulled on a hockey jersey and an army surplus jacket over her tank top. Usual cargo pants, usual Doc Martens. All in all, she didn’t do ‘sexy’ very well.
She headed down to the Compound garage where Stark was likely to have parked, and emerged in the lower levels to find the Lieutenant sitting on the bonnet of his car, drinking beer and looking pretty bored.
“Be a love and pass me a beer, will you?” Hobbs called out as she approached him. “We’re just waiting on Cortes now, yeah?”

[David Cortes]

"Well shit, I don't want ya'll to wait on my account." David grinned, walking from behind the two of them wearing a green Dropkick-Murhpys t-shirt, a black military-style jacket, blue jeans and a pair of black high-top converse. "And to answer your text, don't worry. I'll drive. I figure if I'm stuck paying Hobbs' bill tonight, I may as well be sober enough to make sure I'm only stuck paying her bill, not half the bar's. My jeep's over there." He said, pointing at the green jeep on the other side of the garage. It had a smiley a smiley face tire cover, and a decal on the front that appeared upside down that read 'if you can read this, roll me over.'

"Hop in, and just point me in the right direction."

-------

A short drive later (it wasn't too hard to find the place, all he had to do was follow Dante's instructions) he parked his car in a parking garage close by, then followed the two senior hunters towards the bar. Once inside, he looked around. A lot of people here tonight, and there appeared to be a game on the television, an exhibition soccer match of Real Madrid versus Manchester United. As for the women, they had a phrase for it back in the corps.

"Well, looks like a target rich environment." He grinned wildly. "And I can watch Madrid kick Manchester's ass." He jested. If he lost the shooting match, he would at least have that one Pyrrhic victory dammit. Taking a seat at a nearby booth, he ordered a rum and coke for himself (probably the only drink he'd have that night to be honest) and an order of spicy chicken wings, then waited for the others to order, his eyes wandering to observe the more attractive patrons as much as he watched the game.