Weekend Special Short Tales; California 2.1 Chapter 8

 

8.

Master Gunner had set the M4 Carbine on the auto shoot but he was not there. He had tied the trigger to the wire and had moved to the left rear of it at a distance of twelve feet. It was a dicey move but he needed to know where the four other snipers. The M4 carbine roared with the fire at the front but Master Gunner had not seen any movement.

“They are good.” Master Gunner muttered. He was expecting at least one to move to shoot or relocate. He was wrong. He had to set the new bait. He moved his aim of the M4 but slowly pulling the second wire to move the barrel. He aimed it at the last know position of Sean. He pulled the trigger and watched the canopies of the leaves there were scattered.

It worked. There was a concentrated fire from the trees at the front. Master Gunner took hold of his rifle and looked from the scope at where the shots had come from. He was checking the area and then he saw the flash off the barrel. The sniper did not have time to cover the barrel.

It was a mistake that Master Gunner had taken to take on the shot.

Alvaro was thrown back by the five hundred yards shot when the bullet impacted on his left cheek into his brain. Amare lying twelve feet away muttered a curse at whoever shot his friend. He gripped the M4 close to his left cheek looking for the elusive shooter. He was wondering if Sean the Gringo was still on their side or had he moved to the other side. He had to draw the shooters out. He looked at Alvaro.

“Sorry, onua.” Amare shot at the grenade at Alvaro waist belt that he had seen. It was Alvaro intention to go out in a bang. The shot exploded the grenade which Amare wanted to draw the other sniper’s attention. It did and he saw the movement at the tree. He leveled his M4 and fired at the movement at the tree.  He had crouched up to take the shots. It exposed him and Sean took him down with the headshot.

The movement at the tree was the monkey that shelter there.

“Svo-lach!” (Russian slang for scum.) Mikhail muttered to himself. He had not seen Andre and assumed the other was in cover. He balanced the SV-98 Russian bolt action sniper rifle on his arms. He looked to the last position where they had seen the sniper. If it was him, he would have moved within a radius of ten feet to the side of the rear. He focused his attention on that half circumference.

It was dicey.

Mikhail widened the search.

The concern of that Mikhail may have moved the foliage that was protecting him.

Master Gunner saw it. He took the shot from five hundred yards.

Mikhail was thrown off the tree branch upon impact.

“Piz-dets!’ (Russian slang for ‘damn it’) Andre cursed a distance away. He was the last to hold the American shooters. He did not move his aim but had the scope in his left hand detached from the rifle. He used the scope to scour the trees.

“Ya tebya dostanu..” (Russian for ‘I will get you’.) Andre muttered to himself. He caught then the rustling of the leaves at the tree in front at about six hundred yards. He did some calculations of his own. He reckoned Mikhail was at five hundred or thereabouts looking at the covers. So the distance of six hundred was possible for the sniper to crawl back after the shoot. He focused on the trees there.

“Fuck!” The common phrase he had learned from his counterparts. He cursed at the air which was intermixed with cocaine content. It was distorting his focus. For a while, he thought he saw the tree leaves moved but held his finger on the trigger. He needed to be sure; it will expose his position.

The same was on Master Gunner. He was struggling with the focus. He had done any drugs before and with his daily rigorous workout, he had never needed any. He had seen his friends tried marijuana and other designer drugs but Stark was the good guy. He was trying to pick out the remaining sniper and Sean. It was made harder by the cover of the smoke, and then came the next distractions. The smaller animals were leaving partly from the smoke and then he saw the fire had taken on the jungle trees. A jungle fire is different from a forest fire for the fire was concentrated at the undergrowth and the ground level. The jungle was in the dry season then. The dried leaves at the ground accelerated the spread. The cocaine made it unbearable.

The heat was unbearable at the ground level and Andre had to move or he will be burned by it. He took the move to crawl back. It was an instinctive move to survive.

And a wrong move.

Sean saw the Russian moved and he took the shot. It was a hastily placed shot and the bullet pierced the left shoulder to the heart. Andre rolled to his right side before his body shook momentarily and then stopped.

“I got him, Master Gunner. We are even now.” Sean called in.

At the hotel rooftop, Michael lowered the binoculars and then sighed.

“Six of them are lost. It looked I have to do the task myself.” Michael stepped to the M240 and set it on the edge with the bipod to support it.

“Die, Gringo.” Michael pulled the trigger while he swept the gun barrel left to right and then back. The gun was fed by the gun belt with the five thousand rounds box.