The sun was beginning to set.  Long shadows cast by the fiery ball stretched across the third world village, a small cluster of huts in the center of a large, grassy clearing.<br/><br/>Opelle.  The name reminded Ricky of opal, however unsuiting it may be.  The thought flickered across his mind, then vanished as he refocused on his job.  He and Navrez had been moving stealthily around the clearing's perimeter for the past five hours, scouting out the populace and identifying those as obvious hostiles.  They had counted seven so far, but Ayla said there were two more.  Ricky had no reason to trust the woman, but his gut told him to.<br/><br/>He always listened to his gut.<br/><br/>Then again, what if she was lying?  Any of those huts could contain ten or more Resistance troops with loaded guns and a bad temper.  Ricky considered the disturbing notion that intel had completely botched this mission, and that Opelle was actually a hot-bed for the Resistance that hadn't been raided yet.<br/><br/>No, the residents were too tense with the rebels.  They conversed with them sparingly, and only when they spoke first.<br/><br/>Three hours previous, after two hours of baking in the sun, Ricky had finally gotten a visual on their target: Lancer.  She looked like she did in the photo; at least intel got that right.  It didn't help diminish Ricky's growing resentment for the eggheads.  She seemed to be a volunteer, like the missionaries in San Pedro, helping where she could.  There was one hut she seemed to focus around though; he figured that must be her "house".<br/><br/>His radio crackled.<em>Charon, this is Coalminer.  I have a visual on Juno.  Northwest quarter, talkin' to-- wait.  Juno is in the outhouse.</em><br/><br/>Ricky nodded, momentarily forgetting Navrez was over a 1,000 feet distant.  "Recieved Coalminer.  We should meet for that poker game around eight o'clock, if Juno still plans on coming."<br/><br/>There was a fuzzy chuckle over the staticky transponder.<em>Eight it is.  Don't forget to bring the beer.</em><br/><br/>"Never crossed my mind.  How's Seraphiel?"<br/><br/><em>Out like bellbottoms.  Should I bring her around?</em><br/><br/>"Negative.  And Coalminer?  That was terrible."<br/><br/><em>Ya, I know.</em><br/><br/>After they had split for reconnaisance, Navrez had injected a destimulatizing enzyme into Ayla, effectively placing her in a deep sleep, not unlike what a surgery patient experiences, until the anecdote was administed.  One loose end tied up.<br/><br/>Fewer and fewer people were on the pathways now; only a couple of rebels and some villagers wrapping up daily chores.  Lancer wouldn't be leaving her house for the rest of the night.  Well, not until 7:33.<br/><br/>The extraction called for a simple in and out.  Lancer's hut was on the periphery of the village, so once total darkness fell, Ricky would run up, cut a hole in the wall, and extract the objective.  Navrez would cover from the treeline.  His Commando had a scope mount, which extended its effective range two hundred meters, perfect for long distance cover.  It wouldn't be necessary unless there turned out to be villagers in the hut with her.  Villagers that could be loud and arouse interest.<br/><br/>Or even worse than villagers: soldiers.<br/><br/>Again he checked his watch.  6:09 PM.  Ricky sighed, removing a canteen and slowly sipping its contents as the shadows creeped across the village.