Face Shot (part 2)

      Extreme photographers like me were rare enough that I'd only run up on one other in the field.  I got the front page face shot, he got a page four eyewitness left-over pic and a 'get well' card from me during his recovery.  Those herds of pussy paparazzi back on the boulevard think they're hardcore, but in the bush don't nobody scoop me.
     My target could show up any minute and he spooked easy.  I studied my competitor a bit more then backed up to my hide.  He was a small guy with no equipment other than what he carried.  Probably an amateur; you can't just squat by the road like that without something to stop the subject's car and enough firepower to down his entourage.
     One thing did interest me.  No active camo, no camp, and no attempt to build a hide.  For Oman the afternoon was moderate - no clouds in the pale sapphire sky, temp nearly 38C or just about 100F in the shade.  That meant whoever-he-was was either crazy or expected my subject to be here very soon.  Time to make a move.
     I couldn't just put a bullet in him; that wasn't sporting and would leave a body where it might be spotted.  Still, I was tempted more than once during my crawl to the road.  Active camoflage hid my camp from the thermal imagers I assumed were part of the compound defenses, but only a bit of terrain elevation would allow me to move to the road unseen.  I spat sand and tussled with scorpions over shade the whole way.   
     Discomfort aside, I was feeling pretty good about about my stalk.  Wind covered my noise profile and scattered vegetation let me close with minimum deviation; I got really close.  I couldn't see anything on him; he was wearing a passable ghillie suit.  Definately a noob, though; he didn't check his rear.  He never knew I was there until I jumped.  
     It was like wrestling a kid.  The guy was light but wiry, and didn't seem have any give-up in him, so we kicked up a little sand.  Still didn't take me long to get him face down and cuffed.  While he grunted and squirmed I did a quick pat-down, then checked the area.  No weapons, nothing but a camera and a light plastic screen facing up the road.  What the hell?
     "What the hell," I repeated out loud.
     "Get off me," he said, muffled a bit by the sand in his face.
     "Not happenin', dumbass."  I ground his face in it a bit more, then let up.  "Who are you?"
     "F-fuck you," he sobbed brokenly.  "Go ahead, kill me."  
     Crap.  I flipped the noob over and pull back the ghillie's hood.
     He was a she.