"WESTWARD ADVANCE"

Gunfire echoes across the dunes. British forces continue their westward advance, attempting the push Germany out of North Africa. The Germans are at a disadvantage of manpower and firepower, and are heavily flanked. Speckled atop the sandy hills are shrubs and rocks. From below, they are completely inconspicuous. A lone rifle barrel pokes out of the dry foliage. A Lee Enfield No. 4 "T" sniper, revealing its wielder to be British. The weasel wears a beret and tan fatigues.

From maps and observation, the weasel has attuned a fine understanding of the geography around him, and where his target should be. The building he is watching in particular has been active since the assault had started near the outskirts of the town. Many Germans have entered and exited, but not the target. The building is two stories tall and overlooks most of the town from its elevated position. As is the case for most structures in the town, it's old, eroded, and built of brick. He's kept a close eye on it, not wanting to miss any opportunity that presents itself.

Abruptly, a lone German appears from behind a neighbouring building and runs up the stairs towards the door. He looks rather frantic as he swings the loose door open and it shuts behind him. A minute or two passes. His gaze does not move from the structure. A window's shutters open on the second floor and he adjusts his aim upon it. He's viewing the window from an angle, and cannot see inside the building. A pointing German finger juts out for a moment before returning. Following it, another man peeks out glances to where the finger was pointing. That's him. The weasel fixes his crosshair on the officer and squeezes the trigger.

"Hey buddy!" The bus driver announces. The weasel's eyes shoot open. "This is your stop!" The driver looks at him expectantly.

The weasel stands up, pulling his duffle bag over his shoulder. He thanks the bus driver for waking him and steps off the bus. It pulls off behind him and he observes his surroundings. Del Mar, California. Heat bares down on the Brit. He knows where he is, remembering the map. The weasel turns down the sidewalk towards the nearby hotel.