Moving In For The Kill
The brick storefront behind their targets exploded outward in a spray of rubble and a cloud of dust. Benny whooped exuberantly and grinned at Jackson before turning his attention back to the job at hand. Jackson understood his reaction, and shared it.
Jackson's rifle was empty. He dumped the empty magazine and swapped in another from the box on the ground. They were short five-round magazines, not the usual 20 or 30 round kind.
"Why the tiny clips?" Benny had asked when their contacts opened the box to show them the ammunition.
"Because," one of the men said, thumbing a round out of a magazine and holding it up, "these don't grow on trees." It was a large round, sharply pointed and gleaming. It looked dangerous and it was.
"These things are expensive. So we don't want you yahoos sprayin' and prayin' just because you can. You use aimed fire. Make your shots count. If you can't bag a hero with what you've got there...." He paused and looked Jackson and Benny over, "then you're not the men we're looking for."
Jackson released the slide on his weapon and a new round was loaded in the chamber. He tossed Benny a new magazine and then covered the table while Benny reloaded. Jackson gestured with one hand, Benny nodded.
Benny crept out from behind cover, circling left and forward, weapon up and ready to fire. Jackson went right, doing the same. There was no cover for their targets except the table, and soon they'd be in position to see around it. No more blind fire.