Night Tripline

A strand of discarded clear nylon fishing line lay coiled across the damp root trench, practically invisible in the dark. Such an unmapped tether across my forward advance route could foul a stride in sudden combat. I stepped onto the moist loam, hooked the heavy muzzle of my blaster under the coil, and hauled upward until the filament stretched taut against the bark. Wrapping the loose end three times around the wedged wooden craft stick, I locked it into a rigid tripwire across the gap. The perimeter now springs a covert countermeasure.