She hadn’t moved in two days. Two days of lying in the same position, on top of the same roof in Dimask, staring at the same building entrance eight hundred twenty-six yards away. Two days of nothing. Olivia’s muscles ached. As soon as she got back to base, she was going to go for a jog, then soak under a shower.

The worst thing was the dust. The desert wasn’t far, and the sand got everywhere. It clung to her skin, coated the inside of her mouth, and invaded her underwear. Some of the dust was pulverized concrete, which was even worse. Dimask was strategically important enough to warrant retaining a mage First Class at the base to provide occasional artillery support. The only reason they hadn’t flattened it was because intact cities were more valuable than rubble.

The Empire, ever expanding, had half a dozen war fronts all across Africa and Asia. Why did she have to be deployed to one in the middle of a desert?

The green-haired woman took her left hand off her rifle and squeezed it into a fist a few times before rotating the wrist in both directions, then did the same thing with her right. It was one of the few movements she’d permitted herself since she’d settled in to wait, limiting herself to little things that wouldn’t shift her camo. She turned her neck, and an audible crack resounded through her skull as she felt some of the tension release.

With a sigh, she turned her eyes back towards her target. Her custom rifle only had an ironsight, the standard scope discarded so it wouldn’t obscure her vision. She focused, cycling her minimal mana reserves. The tattoo on her back tingled, and a soft glow illuminated her eyes from within. Her vision narrowed, the market hall coming into sharp focus even at this distance. Now if only the local militia leader would show up like he was supposed to, she could go back to base to get a meal and some exercise.

‘Corporal Clearwater, this is Forward base, code Joseph-Henry-Alpha-Six. Your target has changed.’ A telepathic voice dug its way into her brain. Transmit was a simple spell that any mage could learn with minimal effort. It was one-way communication only, but essential in warzones like these. There was simply no other way to securely get a message out to soldiers in the field. ‘Either Al-Gabir caught wind of a potential attempt on his life, or his paranoia paid off this time. He’s moved his base of operations to a building about three miles into the desert to the east. Repeat, your target has changed to a desert site three miles east from the edge of the city. Engage at your own discretion. Glory to the Empress, message end.’

They had got to be shitting her. Two days of cramps and pissing herself for nothing.

Olivia took a deep breath. Intelligence fuckup or no, she still had a mission to complete. Every tendon in her body made its location painfully obvious to her as she pushed herself up into a crouch. Stamina had always been one of her strong points. Her childhood days as a competitive gymnast continued to pay dividends, but even she could only stay in one position for so long without smarting.

A breeze picked up, offering a welcome reprieve from the heat. Olivia had been lying under an awning, the shade acting both as cover and protection from the sun, but deserts were deserts and the inner layer of her camo suit clung to her skin. She picked up the small device that had been next to her head and spat out the tube connected to it. The little box was little more than enchantments engraved on steel wafers and a tiny reservoir of refined whale oil to fuel them. She left the tubes going into her suit where they were and stuffed the water recycler into a pocket.

The soldier did her best to stretch while remaining low, resulting in a chorus of small pops and cracks only audible to her, and she had to resist the urge to moan. With blood once again flowing to all the important places, Olivia picked up her rifle and slowly crept around the perimeter of the roof so she could look east. Thankfully, she wasn’t far from the eastern edge of the city, only six hundred fifty-eight yards to the wall. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to relocate.

After a moment to focus, she cycled her mana again, and her vision adjusted, compensating for the harsh glare of the sun so she didn’t even have to squint as she scanned the desert plains. The tattoo across her back was an experimental piece. Enchantments worked by channeling mana through precise pathways, usually made by engraving them into a solid surface. The mana was usually provided by a supply of whale oil. Mages didn’t really need enchantments, relying on magecraft for their arts. Regular people didn’t have the ability to draw or use mana, and thus couldn’t use an enchantment that had no power source.

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Olivia was a rare middle case. She had zero ability to use magecraft or draw mana from whale oil, but she could still sense mana to a limited degree. The Empire’s recruiters had passed her over when they’d performed their inspection. She wasn’t magical enough to be drafted.

Over the years she’d learned to sense and cycle her own natural mana, but it had been of little use beyond a meditative exercise. Until she’d joined the army. Once you made it into special forces, your superiors were suddenly a lot more willing to get creative with your talents.

So now she was arguably the Empire’s best sniper, no spotter required. She could pick out a fly at five miles, when she was up high enough for her horizon to stretch out that far. The minarets were easy in comparison. There, five thousand seven hundred fifty-seven yards from her position, stood a small mosque. A few scattered date palms and a raised well indicated the presence of an underground water source. Probably some kind of minor holy site then. The towers were beautiful, shining a brilliant white and gold.

Shit. Why did the guy have to pick a place of worship as his new base? She really hoped she wouldn’t have to end up shooting into the mosque.

A few tents had been set up not far from the temple entrance. Olivia blinked, and her vision zoomed in. People were milling around despite the noonday sun, likely gathering for the dhuhr. That would provide an opportunity for her. The woman took a deep breath, made sure her rifle was stable on its stand, and settled back into a prone position.

Some invisible signal made people stop what they’d been doing and move towards the entrance of the mosque, most likely a prayer bell, too far away for the sound to carry. Somewhere behind her a larger bell tolled for the people within the city limits.

Olivia did what she did second best, and waited.

Eventually, people filtered back out. She recognized one of the last men to exit as her target. Al-Gabir, the leader of the local militia. According to her intel, the man was responsible for a dozen civilian evacuations, and organizing the armed retreats and pushbacks, and generally hindering the army’s incursion by being a rallying point for the local populace. Without him, the resistance was predicted to fall into disarray.

“C’mon, move,” she murmured. There were too many other people around for her to be comfortable with the shot, and he was still standing in front of the mosque.

The men surrounding him began to leave, and Olivia readjusted her grip.

At the last second, a boy dressed in white ran out, clutching at Al-Gabir, who smiled and patted him on the head. The sniper clenched her jaw.

“Get out of there, kid.”

Both figures turned and began to walk towards the tents.

“Please.”

They were holding hands.

Olivia exhaled, glanced at the palm leaves to gauge the breeze, and added five thousand seven hundred forty-eight yards worth of lead time and drop.

A single bullet passed clean through Al Gabir’s skull just as they were about to disappear into one of the tents.

Crimson stained white clothes.

***

Showers were bliss. Despite being in the desert, the base had no shortage of water. The locals were dipping from wells because the Empire had cut off the water supply and taken it for themselves.

Most soldiers showered cold to counter the sweltering heat, but Olivia had the water turned as hot as it would go.

And yet she couldn’t stop shivering.

Three more weeks until she could apply for leave. Perhaps she’d visit the Summer Isles. She hadn’t been to the plantation where she’d grown up since the fire. The land was owned by others now, but she could swing by, and go over old memories. Perhaps she’d remember why she’d joined the army as soon as she’d been old enough.

The raiders had come during the night, while she was away for a tournament. An incursion by foreign elements. Invaders had murdered her entire family and left her an orphan.

The soldier shook her head. No, not the Summer Isles. The memories didn’t need refreshing.

They were sending out regular colonization missions to that big new continent out west these days. It was supposed to be a lush and wild land with no native population, ripe for exploitation. Despite the Empire’s best efforts to quash them, there were rumors that the reason no one ever returned wasn’t because they settled down and started a new life, but because no one survived for more than a few weeks. Sailors who had made the trip whispered it was actually a green hell, filled with monsters and wild magic that ruined the minds of men and made them forget who they were.

Slowly, the shivering stopped.