Hidden- Part One: Swamp Rat

    His name his Damian Servey Yoviski. He is twenty-seven years old and was born on October 21, 1983. Flown all around the world he speaks fluint Russian, English, Hindi, German, Cantoniese, Mongolian, French, and Arabic. His records show one

hundred and eleven known field kills, and about seven hundred off duty. 6'2'', blue eyes, dark brown hair, and a sort of bad-ass-swagger to his walk, which is limped slightly on the right foot. Has a temper, and is far from cowardess. Weapon of choice would be anything automatic. Not much of a shot, but one hell of an expert in demolitions. He hates Ukraine and the States, and that is one reason you see, that I am hunting this man.

  My name is Luitenent Major Greggory Sanderson. I am twenty years old and a veteran of the Gulf and Desert Storm in Kuwait. Today I'll be dropped into hostile territory in search of my target, Yoviski.

  I sit in the rear of the boat, alone and steering it through the swamp. I'm dressed in a gillie suit, and have a maximum amount of face paint on. With me includes the following; one M21 scoped and silence. One .9mm sidearm, also silenced. Two frag grenades, and one flash. One green smoke grenade. A combat knife, my comm, binaculers, and a claymore, plus plenty of ammow. Most importantly, I have my GPS. Without that thing, I wouldn't even be able to find my target let alone kill him.

  I check the divice and notice that I'm a half a click to the entry point. The swamp has a 556 mile perimeter, and gets thicker the deeper you go into it. Outposts dot the landscape, and soldiers potrol the area twenty-four seven. Good thing I know what I am doing out here.

  ...I get off of the raft and drag it into the treeline. I cover it with leaves and branches before heading on.  I pass by a small lump of land that drops down. I hop down it and am greeted by the swamp's mirky waters. Some of seeps into my boots, as it raises just past their hem. I swear passively and head on, weapon raised just above the water. I pass by tree after tree after tree, checking my GPS frequintly. I reach a treeline and crawl into it, the cramped space allowing the branches to grab hold of me. Half way through I smell a fire, and hear several voices. I peek through the branches to see a small shack of some sort, supported up by stilts so that the swamp water does not seep into the building, flooding it. I think to myself that it would be best if I could just sneek around it. But I'm sure  as hell not going through any more of this brush. I slip out, trying not to snap the branches. I do good for the most part and head to the shack. The space underneth it is high enough for me to crouch under. I slip in, the water now elevated up to my stomach. I ignore it and crawl through all the way to the other side. The wooden floorboards above me are old, and look like they'd callaps at any time. But I see men inside, drinking and talking, which is probably against regulations, which is a good thing for me.

  If their drunk, they won't stand a chance, and if their getting drunk, then they must not be on high allert. That means that they don't even expect an assassination to come to their leader.

  There is one big problem though, the fire that I smelled earlier. Once out of the crawlspace, I spot three men surrounding a campfire and speaking what I'm sure is some kind of dailect of Russian. They sit on a little patch of land elevated enough so that  they aren't sitting in water. I think first that I should sneak by them, but I seriously doubt that it would work well. There is no cover, and I don't think that I can hold my breath long enough to swim past them steathly. Plus, and I'm no health freak, but I don't plan on sticking my face in that water and getting saminella. The only solution that I can see is my gun.

  I slowly sift into an angle where my crossairs fit over two of their heads. When sniping three men in a stealth posture, it is always best to take out two birds with one stone. I level up my weapon and match my target. I squeeze the triger and the silence of the shot is so effective that I hear the sound of two of the men's heads burst into pink and red mist. Brain matter paints the face of the third man, as well as any other "parts" of the human head bounce or stick on him. He freezes in shock of the sudden death of his friends in the half a second it takes me to pop him between the clavicyls, just where the neck meets the torso. He drops dead and I freeze to hear the sudden sift of floor boards behind me. But there is nothing, they didn't hear anything at all.

  I displace and move to the bodies. All around the killzone is brain, skull, blood, puss, skin fragments, and snot. Headshots are a messy business,  but effective. I spend the next two minutes it takes to drag these corpses into the water, making sure that the weight of their bodies and their gear holds them down under. I check the GPS and notice the targetzone it still half a click from here, and I'm on a tight sceduel. I haul my ass there...