Through the scope in her hand, the figures in the distance could be seen clearly.
Four hundred meters away, the figure of Neal Thompson swayed as if about to fall. His training uniform was covered in mud, looking extremely pitiful. The oil paint on his face had long been obscured by the mud, but the contours of his face were clearly visible.
He walked with a limp, struggling mightily to move, his left leg apparently injured.
Neal wasn't carrying much. Apart from the standard issue Type 95 automatic rifle in his hand, the only remaining item was a water bottle hanging from his waist. The bottle swung back and forth as he walked, like it could fall off at any moment.
"Is that him?"
Even with naked eye, Becca Reyes was able to identify him with her naked eye. But she was not entirely certain, and therefore asked again.
Lifting her eyes from the scope, Flossie Wright lowered the raised sniper rifle, and replied to Becca Reyes with a simple "Hmm."
