Klaus sat with his sniper posted on a sandstone ledge, the rifle's heavy night optic resting against his cheek.
His usual 10×42 was gone, replaced by a bulkier, battery-fed sight that glowed faintly green in the dark.
An instrument built on the same principles as the AN/PVS-2s American special forces would field half a century later in another world.
It gave him magnification when the rest of the desert offered only black and rumor.
Around him, the men wore primitive night goggles; lenses fogged by breath, fabric harnesses chafing at the temple.
As the fireteam's marksman, Klaus preferred the optic.
Through the night, it simplified: a braided web of shadows became shapes, and those shapes became information.
His reticle steadied squarely between the shoulders of a man downrange, an American colonel standing at the rear of a formation, hands on a map case, unaware he had been made legible.
This colonel was not targeted for execution tonight. He was a target for observation.
