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"They're getting pretty tired of losing," Fred remarked with a wry smile.
"That's not a good thing," Linda told him and flipped a stray strand of red hair out of her face. "They're not going to play fair. You heard the sniper we captured. He said that this time their Captain told them to win no matter what—even if they had to bloody a few of us to do it."
John nodded. "So we'll return the favor and do whatever it takes to win, too." He grabbed a twig and scratched a square in the leaf-covered dirt. "I'll have command of Red Team: That's me, Sam, Kelly, and Fhajad. Linda, you lead Blue Team."
"It's not 'Blue Team,' " Fred complained, and his face soured. "It's just me. How come I have to stay and play sniper?" He flexed his hands, and John could sense his pent-up eagerness to get into close-range combat.
"Because you're our second-best shot," John told him. "And
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"Count on it," Linda replied and locked her dark green eyes with John's.
He wondered if that's what her eyes looked like when she sighted through the sniper scope. She never seemed to blink; she always won in games of stare-down.
"After we get the flag," he continued, "Red Team will get out of there. Watch for targets of opportunity and cover us. We ren?dezvous at the LZ and hopefully no one finds us before then."
Fred nodded. Linda hefted her new rifle, which was almost too large for her to look through the scope and rest the butt against the hollow of her shoulder at the same time. "You'll be in good hands."
John closed his eyes and ran over the details of his plan again in his head. Yes—everything gelled; their odds were good. He knew they'd win.
"Don't come out from hiding at the LZ until I give the all-clear signal," he reminded them. "We could be captured... they could make us talk."
They all nodded, remembering what Tango Company had done to James. He "fell down a flight of stairs" as they had escorted him from cell to cell in their single-story jail. James hadn't bro?ken ... not mentally, at least. But John wished he had; it had taken James a whole week to recover.
No—he took back that thought. He was glad James hadn't broken. John would have tried to do the same.
John whistled the little six-note singsong tune Deja had taught them—their all-clear signal. He stood, holstered his dart pistol, and checked the three stun grenades on his belt. "I'll see you at the LZ."
160 HALO: FIRST STRIKE
"Okay. Check your mirrors."
They all pulled out the shards of mirror they had taken from Tango Company's latrine last night. They had taped the edges so they could be handled more easily, and taped their backs to re?duce the chance they'd shatter. The whole operation depended on a fragile piece of glass, which had John worried.
"Just hand signals from here on out," John told them. "Move out, Red Team."
They crouched and clawed and slithered through the forest until they reached a gravel track. They pushed two large rocks off the nearby hill, blocking the road, then waited in the brush.