Coco unzipped another soft case and removed the rifle from within. hefting it she began the drill for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. With a sharp snap she worked the lever and quickly confirmed that the chamber and rotary magazine was empty. Satisfied with that step the mare started the process of inspected the weapon.

A quick exterior inspection found nothing alarming. The usual collections of scuffs, scratches, dings to the wooden stock combined with worn bluing and minor exterior corrosion. The kind of honest wear a rifle acquires after years of being used and lugged around in the elements. Coco wasn’t worried about cosmetics; it was interior and the optics that she was most concerned about.

Shouldering the rifle she looked through the scope. The optics were clear, and the scope reticle even possessed a rudimentary range-finding reticle. Nothing as refined as the Mil-Dot reticle that Coco routinely used, but the mare had used this type in her youth. Now the critical part.

Lowering the rifle from her shoulder she tilted the action so the light of the goose neck light was shining directly into it. The earth pony depressed the magazine follower and started the interior inspection. She sighed at the amount of lint and dust in the magazine. This was becoming an all too familiar sight.

Closing the action she once again shouldered the weapon. The cheek height of the stock in relation to the optics wasn’t great, but that could be modified with some foam and liberal use of duct tape. Taking aim at the far wall of the cabin she carefully pressed the trigger.

A soft but distinctive click could be heard. The mare nodded her. Hardly optimal. Thought mare. But average for a hunting rifle. Now for the horror show.

Once again Coco opened the action again and with a small flashlight she began inspecting the chamber of the rifle. After a couple seconds she carefully set the rifle in her lap and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out as in her mind reminded herself again.

Your contacts are doing the best they can under difficult circumstances and on short notice. They have limited options and economic means. Also different standards than yours, but remember they’re trying to help.

Still when lifted the rifle and looked into the chamber she couldn’t help from saying out loud.

“Rapteran. Does anyone in family perform routine maintenance on their firearms?” She then peered at the rifling. “Never mind that. Do any of you family own a bore brush!”

The male griffin bristled at this comment. “I’ll have you know I clean my rifle at least once a week!”

Coco stared silently back at the griffin for several seconds then she sharply closed the action of the rifle. Carefully she set the rifle back in her lap and took a sip of her tea as she further weighed her options.

She knew that her last comment was a bit unfair. Most of the rifles she’d inspected tonight were adequate big game hunting rifles. Perfectly capable of putting 5 shots in 6 to 7 inch circle at 300yds under realistic hunting conditions and a competent shooter. That was accurate enough to hit something vital on a large game animal. Blood loss, broken bones, organ damage, and shock would put the game down in reasonable amount of time. Usually no more than a couple of minutes.

Those were unacceptable standards in Coco’s line of work. Whenever possible death had to be as close to instantaneous as possible. No chance of aid coming to save the target. No opportunity to escape from the situation. Termination had to absolute and complete in a matter of seconds. In a best case scenario the target never heard the shot or realized they’d been hit. Sudden darkness and discontinuity should be all they experience.

Also the range she’d probably going to be working at would be a stretch for any of these rifles. She was looking at between 600 minimum and out to 900yds, and her target was a very large, strong, and dangerous male griffin. A griffin that rarely was alone and traveled in the company of several equally dangerous griffins.

The plan had been originally to been to nail the target, one Kraka Blackwing, with a .338 magnum cartridge that was loaded with an armor piercing, delayed fragmentation bullet. The projectile’s harden tungsten tip would’ve punch through any physical body armor a griffin could be wearing and still fly. Upon penetrating the head or torso the bullet would rapidly fragment, effectively detonating inside the body. This round had proven itself as being able to consistently take out tough targets at ranges up to1200yds. The targets usually dropped like puppets who’s strings had suddenly been cut.

Unfortunately none of Rapteran’s immediately family or trusted friends owned a rifle in that caliber. Coco didn’t fault them for that. It was a relatively new, and expensive, cartridge. The mare found it ironic that Silver Talon Nation was one of the poorest of the Griffin Nations. This was why she and RESF was here assisting them.

Coco looked back at Rapteran and sighed. “Sorry about that last statement.” She looked over at the ruined rifle that had been part of the kit that she’d intended to use.“You’re trying to help the best you can. Its just that if I am going to make this work I’m going to need something thats’ both powerful and more accurate than…”

She made a sweeping gesture with her left hand at the collection of rifles lying on the floor and sofa. “These.” She said. Her face scrunched up for a moment. “Isn’t abellak hunting popular in these mountains? That’s usually done at long ranges and requires a stout cartridge to put the down. Does any of your family hunt those?”

The griffin leaned back against the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah, abellek hunting is popular in the Scar Claw Mountains. In fact the season has already started.” He looked back at the mare. “But that’s trophy hunting dun by either wealthy. Fancy griffins who travel here from other nations to do it, or by those who are under Kraka’s banner. He often rewards them with fancy rifles as gifts for their loyalty. My family and most around here families hunt for meat. Stuff to get us thru the winter. Not fancy trophies to hang on wall.

Coco finished her tea then set the cup down. “Isn’t common for hunters coming from far away to hire local guides who know the hunting grounds better? Those guides regularly carry equipment capable of taking down the same game as their clients. Know any guides you trust and you can ask a favor of ?”

The griffin rubbed his bill as he stared at the mare for a moment. “Maybe.”

Coco quickly worked the bolt on the rifle in her hands. It hissed with any almost silky feel. She shouldered the lightweight, 7mm magnum rifle and looked at through the scope. A grin slowly spread across her.

Proper mil dot reticle and a BDC calibrated to the caliber built into it. The mare set the wide fore end of the carbon fiber stock on the back of one dining room table chairs. Taking aim out the dining room window at a nearby peak the mare set the reticle on a distant rock.

Crystal clear image to the edges of the lens. Good. She thought. She turned the magnification ring on the 4-18x50 variable power scope. Yes. Nice and Smooth.

She reached up and turned the elevation drum on the top of the scope. Precise, quick, consistent clicks could be heard. She turned slowly in a clockwise and then counter clockwise direction. Reaching further down on the drum she carefully worked the secondary ring. Good it’s got both minute and quarter minute of angle adjustment for both elevation and windage. She glanced over at the owner of this rifle. This setup must represent a year or more worth of earnings. They’re serious about their gear.

She pulled a bolt out the back of the receiver. Setting it on the dining room table she peered down the bore of the deeply fluted barrel. Raising her head she looked over at the older griffin who’d been silently watching her. “What’s your preferred load?” She asked.

The older griffin growled. “I’ve settled on Redclaw 185gr soft points. They always hits the mark and if my client fucks up the shot they’ve got muscle tu finish the job. Abelleks are tuf shits and yu gotta nail them hard.” He pointed at the rifle. “I’ve always gotten the job dun with them.”

He them pointed at Coco. “But can yu get the job dun?” He cocked his head over at Rapteran. “I’ve know him since he was a featherless chick. Yu. I don’t know yu. Rapteran say yer some hotshot murdermare that yer princesses uses tu take care of things. Apparently yur supposedly gonna take care of that vulture Kraka Blackwing. Is that tru?”

Coco bristled a little at the word murdermare, but it wasn’t the first time she’d been called it. She looked the old griffin in the eyes and smiled. “Yes. I am one of the Royal Equestria Security Forces best precision rifle-ponies, and yes the RESF does report directly to Royal Court.”

The smile then vanished from her face and her eyes became cold. “And if you’re wondering if I can do it. Yes. Yes I can. This is not my first assignment. I can do the job. When I’m done Kraka Blackwing will no longer be a threat to the Silver Talon Nation.”

The old griffin returned Coco’s cold stare. “Hope yur right dear. Becuz if yu fuck up and Kraka finds out I gave yu my rifle to take care of him. He’s gonna kill my family befer my eyes befer he kills me!” He leaned forward. “Yu understand?”

Coco’s eyes never left the old griffin’s. “Yes I do.”

To be continued.`