The two Section vehicles bumped over the rough terrain and pulled to a stop near a large clearing. The team piled out of the 4x4s and stood staring about them.

"Unload the equipment and set up camp." Michael told them. "We have plenty of time, they won't be here until tomorrow morning.

He helped Birkoff assemble his portable monitoring station while keeping his eye on the others. It was his usual team, minus the women. Ian and Thomas were laying out groundsheets and bedrolls, Ted was setting up a fire-pit. The rest of the team was moving about performing tasks off a checklist.

Michael smiled to himself. They were performing with surgical precision. The campsite looked precisely the way the mission parameters stated that it should. It was a good thing that the targets weren't there to see it, they'd never pass as a bunch of guys out for a weekend of hunting.

He gathered the team together, "Birkoff and I are going to scope the perimeter. We're supposed to have been here a few days so mess the place up a bit, lets see some ashes in that fire-pit and empty beer cans." He fixed them with a glare, "Pour it out, don't drink it."

He started to walk off with Birkoff when something occurred to him,

"And we're supposed to be on a hunting trip, shoot something."

He and Birkoff drove around for hours, checking possible locations where they might find the target, scoping out escape routes and planning scenarios for taking the target into custody. It was nearly dawn when they returned to the campsite. Michael was tired and stiff from riding for so long and stretched lazily as they walked to the camp. The guys were sitting around drinking coffee and telling exaggerated stories, a few were missing, standing sentry. He didn't notice at first but Birkoff's awestruck voice caught his attention,

"God."

He turned, his eyes widened, "Merde." He spun back around, drilling them with an icy glare,

"What have you done?!"

The team exchanged looks.

"You told us to shoot something." Ted reminded him.

"Some thing. A thing. Maybe two or three things." Michael reminded them, struggling not to lose it, "Not every thing!"

He turned back, still hardly believing the carnage before his eyes. He walked over trying to figure out what they had done. There were carcasses everywhere. Deer, moose, rabbits, pheasants.

"Christ, is that a bear?"

"Phillip got him." Thomas informed him, proud of his friend.

Michael ran a hand across his eyes. He had only himself to blame. He'd ordered a team of cold ops to kill something. And they had done so. With enthusiasm.

"I guess we went a little overboard." Ted admitted

"You guess? A little? You aren't a bunch of recruits. I shouldn't have to spell this stuff out to you."

Taking a deep breath he raked them all with a glare, "Clean this mess up. Keep one deer and a few birds. Get rid of the rest. Weight it and drag it into the lake. Just be sure there is not one shred of evidence by the time the target is supposed to arrive."

Michael continued walking, surveying. Suddenly he stopped, even more astonished, (which he hadn't thought was possible.)

"What the hell is this?! A fish?! You shot a fish?"

"The briefing said the guy sometimes fishes." Ian reminded him.

"Were you going to show it to him? Don't you think he'd notice the bullet hole?" Michael bit off.

"I guess," Ian said, "But it was a pretty big trout."

"Of course it's a big trout, it's a salmon! For Christ's sake Ian you're a Scott, you don't know the difference between a trout and a salmon?"

"I didn't do a lot of fishing in Glasgow."

"Let me give you a little tip. Automatic weapons are frowned upon."

The end

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