Sandalo

The Cheytac was a relic from the past. His great, great, grandfather was a sniper of the last World War; back when the entire Sandalo clan lived through the hardships and terrors in the last days of humanity's dying home world, Earth. He was one of the few millions who survived and was handpicked, together with his family, by the USEAN (Union of Southeast Asian Nations) government for relocation to Tau Ceti. The government, grateful for his service, let him keep his issued rifle, the Cheytac.

When Great Great Grandpappy Lolo Sandalo finally arrived at Tau Ceti 4 (Bagong Silangan), the rich agricultural planet had turned him from soldier to farmer overnight, hanging up the rifle by the wall. But even then, he has never forgotten his skills as a stalker and hunter. He had considered the rifle as the family heirloom; and he passed down not only his rifle but also his sniper tradecraft- marksmanship, stalking, and camouflage- to his sons if only as past-time. He and his sons would hunt large, alien game, during the planet's equivalent of summer using the rifle. As time went, great great Lolo passed away, his sons continued the legacy and taught the craft to their sons and so on and forth, until it rested finally into the hands of the latest and possibly the last of the Sandalo, Joseph.

Joseph, rifle aimed out into the field, ran his hand over the scope and slowly adjusted his sights. He willed himself to calm down; breathing controlled to avoid shaking too much, and taking everything in.

"Situational awareness, son," his da, a Kalayaan Ranger, would use to say. "is all the difference between winning and losing; living and dying. Always remember that out here in the wilds or in anywhere in the universe you might be."

Joseph took those words to heart. He took everything his da would say to heart. And now, all he's got are those words and his memory. Even the memories of him are soiled. Corrupted, somehow. All he could remember when he tries hard to dig up his times with da, are his final moments; seeing the uranium slugs of the autocannons stitch his father up from his belly to his head. Joseph winced. He breathe in deep and exhaled. He needs to focus. He brought himself back to the present, momentarily leaving that awful memory.

They'll come out of the tree line across the field, soon enough. A squad, eight people, maybe more. He had no idea how much damage a 0.50 cal rifle from 21st century would do to a heavy combat suit with ferrous-ceramic plating that the Empire soldiers wear, but, hopefully, he won't miss and find out. His real target was the suit's weak spot; the armorplast visor covering the soldiers faces, the headshot. That would be their softest part, but again, Joseph would not have the slightest idea if it could penetrate.

He'd wish he wouldn’t have to use this rifle. Standard issue for the Kalayaan Army was the M26 Gauss Rifle; now that's a rifle! An infantry assault rifle that fires off electromagnetically propelled spikes at a very high velocity. What he'd give to have one right now but instead, he's going to take on the Empire with this old thing.

Joseph wasn't in the army; not yet anyway. The recruiter laughed at him a few months back and told him to come back when he was two years older. Yes, he was not of age, but he knew about warfare more than any 18 years old private could. He watched the vids, read every e-book of war and tactics on his data tablet, and he trained with his dad every summer. He was ready. If only he wasn’t shaking so much.

“Breathe, relax...” His da used to tell him. Da. Thinking of him left a pang of pain in his chest.

Da. Ma. Eli. They were everything to Joseph. Da with his fount of knowledge of everything over and under the Tau Ceti sun. Ma with her sweet smile and the warmest hug he's ever known. And Eli, loud and brash little El-El; never one to back down from any dare her older brother would give her. Now ma lies silent, uranium slugs stitching her back, shielding Eli in their last moments together. Acting as a human shield for Eli didn't matter though; the slugs ripped right through her body, peppering sweet, little Eli just the same. He heard his da screamed a guttural, most primal wail Joseph has ever heard his entire life. He saw his da charge at the Marines. And like a broken record, he sees it in his mind's eye again. The uranium slugs of the autocannons stitch his father up from his belly to his head. The body slumps. He lay on the ground, a fallen Ranger.

Joseph's hands shook again. His vision blurred a bit but he stifled it in. Grieve later. This is a time of reckoning.

A flicker of movement from the tree line across the field to the right. Slowly, he swung his barrel roughly towards that direction and scoped it out. It was unmistakable. The Empire of Greater Asia Marines; he had seen them so many times in the video feeds and the planetary network. Often, he'd see them, marching victorious, their wake of destruction in the background of some star system's city a few light years away. This time, he saw them for real, through his rifle scope, only 900 meters away. And what he saw was formidable.

With the combat suits, they were more giants than men. From his vantage point, Joseph roughly guessed them to be 9–10 feet tall. The shape of their suits were bulky and humanoid. The black, fishbowl-like, armorplast visors further enhanced their metallic monstrosity. Turning them like those one-eyed abominations of ancient Earth myth— a "cyclop", or something like that. Most of their suits' body were painted blood-red, further giving them a monstrous demeanor.

There were 8 of them—as he had guessed. And they were moving! They leapfrogged, across the field, four on four. They were moving their way towards the farmhouse and granary. You would think with their suits' size, they'd lumber slowly and clumsily, but Joseph knew better; he studied them, after all. The cybernetic myofibers integrated to the suits enhances the wearer's strength and speed by 3 times. He had studied this, hoping that when he joined the army, he'd get to wear the Kalayaan version of it. He'd never thought he'd face them in combat unprotected save his ghillie suit, thermocamo cloak and a two hundred year old rifle. His shaking worsened, still.

“Damn it, breathe!”

Joseph willed himself to breathe in through the nose and slowly exhale through the mouth repeatedly until he was satisfied that his shaking was in an acceptable intensity. He needed steady enough hands and nerves to pull this off. If he took out just one of them, that would be a victory for the Resistance. Even if it means sacrificing his life. His Da would be proud. Ma. Eli.

All 8 of them made it to the farmhouse. 4 had set perimeter around it while the rest have stacked themselves up by the threshold of the front door, setting themselves into a standard breach and entry procedure of assault teams in close-quarter engagement. A loud bang from the front door—even from this distance—made Joseph jump. The stacked marines entered the house. A few seconds passed, all were quiet, even the marines standing guard outside the house stood motionless, silent but poised for violence should there be a need for it. A minute passed, then two, then, one by one, the assault team came out of the house, most likely declaring the house secured.

Joseph wasn’t sure, what with the distance and the enemy covered in combat suits, but all of them looked a little relaxed after. The perimeter team still stood guard but it looked as if their air of violence stepped down a notch. The assault teams left their formation and were wandering randomly about. He knew this was the right time to strike. Some philosopher of war or some such who lived a few hundred years ago, would have approved of this timing were it not for the fact that Joseph would be killing one of his descendants. To attack the enemy when and where they least expect it. Joseph smiled despite himself; yes, Sun Tzu—that was the philosopher's name, Sun Tzu's Art of War—would have approved of this, despite the irony. His smile vanished, though, when he caught one of the marines in his scope.

This one was not relaxed. This one kept circling around their perimeter, pacing about, ill at ease, and worse still... This one kept his visor constantly glancing towards Joseph's direction! This marine knows something's up, or if not, then feels it. His father has called this as the "sixth sense".

"The human mind…" his da would say as they go hunt out in the wilds, "…is a strange thing; a mystery still, despite advancements in neuroscience, cyberpsychology and biotechnology. Thousands of years of constant danger back on Earth, from wild animals and from other humans has developed our mind to sense the presence of danger even when everything you see, hear, or feel, would, at first glance tell you otherwise."

"Trust these feelings…" his Da would continue, "… specially out in the wilds of Tau Ceti 4."

And now, it seems the one marine is having that same feeling; a justifiable feeling. The jittery marine gave Joseph's position one more long, hard, visor-stare before coming alive; gesturing to his companions excitedly, pointing, arm-sweeping, almost as if... as though giving commands! This was it. His target has finally revealed himself. The jittery marine was their officer; it was clear to Joseph, now. Hence, he was priority one target.

His revenge is close at hand. These bastards are going to pay and Joseph is going to start with this officer.

He'd imagine the officer giving orders with his armor's Neurocybernetic Integration System. Calling support and tactical plans with just a "thoughtclick" as the suit and mind is melded into one. That was why he had to go. Take out the head, and the rest of the squad would be in chaos for a moment. That moment would be enough for him to slip away and escape. To fight another day. The officer has to go. He needs to die.

The marines began dispersing from the house, moving towards Joseph's general direction. The biggest question on his mind is whether or not he's actually spotted. Was their leader's apprehension because of just some hunch, or was it because Joseph's ghillie suit and hide had seemed out of place among the forest background? He wasn’t sure. But one thing is certain, he has to act now!

Roughly 600 meters and closing fast, the marines were. Joseph was a decent shot at 600 using the rifle even with fast moving targets, but he needed to be sure.

500 meters.

All thoughts of fear and shaking was lost to him. His target, the officer, was clear and large, as though the enemy was in front of him, face to face.

400.

Joseph gave himself one last breath in... Slowly exhaling from the mouth... Closing in the slack on the trigger... Steadily, slowly, squeezing every pound of force needed on the trigger, stopping at the last pound - the pull that fires the rifle.

He pulled.

Or at least he tried to as all hell and pain wracked his body.

Joseph didn't stand a chance. The shock stick sent 15000 volts coursing through body, rendering him paralyzed instantaneously. Added with a knock of a riflebutt to the head, he was out. And snuffed out with him, is his chance for a revolution against the Empire.