3...2...1...fire.
Stanford squeezed slowly through the trigger and the weapon rewarded the movement with a crisp report, coupled with a powerful kick to the shoulder. The target crumpled almost immediately as the .303 calibre slug tore into the right side of his chest, just above the heart, tumbling off the shoulder blade, before exiting through the neck. The round was not immediately fatal, but even had the OB rifleman been standing next to the world's best surgeon, he did not stand a chance. The man would lose conciousness within 30 seconds and be killed by his own heart beat shortly after that, as his uniform was stained a deep claret.
The RAF man worked the bolt on his rifle. The extractor and ejector worked in tandem to remove the spent cartridge, before the bolt stripped another round from the internal magazine and rammed it home into the chamber. For a second or two Stanford peered over the sights of the Enfield, waiting for something to happen. Suddenly there was a cry of alarm and the world exploded into the staccato crackle of rifle fire. Bullets whipped inaccurately in all directions, the Rebels seemingly having no clue of where the shots had originated from. This changed as Noble hurled a smoke grenade towards the compound. The incoming fire was now concentrated on them, but at least it was still woefully inaccurate.
That's it - everyone, close and engage! Red Flight, take the western buildings, White takes the eastern ones, and we'll meet up at the main building once it's clear! Reide, with Red!
Stanford did not need telling twice. This was, as they say, it. He raised himself up from the long grass and charged into the smoke, hot on the heels of the rest of the flight. He alighted from the cloud of obscuring smoke perhaps ten yards away from the eastern buildings, just in time to see two OB men burst out of a doorway carrying what appeared to be an MG34. Stanford fired instinctively from the hip. From such close range, he could hardly miss. The round slammed into the man with the gun and he fell to the ground immediately, no more than five yards from the RAF officer. The other OB man, armed with boxes of linked 7.92mm Mauser, panicked and retreated back through the doorway as Stanford's follow up shot blew a sizable chunk out of the doorframe. Over the noise of gunfire, Stanford could hear the panicked shouting of multiple men inside. Apparently, no one knew what was going on. He slung the rifle - as much as it was a fine weapon, something with a higher rate of fire would be needed here. He drew the Browning with one hand and took one of his many Mills bombs in the other. Opening the door and posting the grenade through, however, seemed to be something that one man alone would find difficult. He looked around his immediate vicinity, looking for a familiar face to help him clear the room.
