Killer Last Stand
Author's Note:
The is a piece on
assassination but I added a twist to the ending. It not your everyday sniper.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The weight of the
L96A1 rifle is just under 6 over kilogram; well-rested on the double stand
tripod which comes with it. I relaxed my shoulder and my right arm as my eye is
fixated on the scene at about 400 yards away on a slight recline of a 10-degree
gradient. I adjusted my Zeiss Telescopic sights to get a clearer view. My
target is moving inside the target scope screen, but he will lose it all when
my .338 magnum hits his head. I twitched my nose to the humid condition of the
place of concealment which already seeps into my dark clothes now. Its occupant
is away for a short holiday and they kept the place all sealed up with closed
windows and drawn curtains, except for this slightly raised window frame here.
Damn, I hate these
sniping jobs at times compared to those who smash the door and pulled the
trigger on the automatic rifles. In twenty-two seconds, you have cleared one
clip and you are attaching the next clip of the 30 rounds. And then you walked
in on the undead and clear them with a single shot in the head with the Glock.
From there, it's back to the car and all is completed within five minutes, or
four if you as good as me. The target walks into my sight and he is on the
hairline view. I pulled the trigger with my index finger and I can feel the
recoil on my shoulder as the .338 travels down the 42-inch barrel to the muzzle
velocity of over 800m/s to reach the selected target within the split second.
It's over, and my
job is done. I got up from my prone position and unscrewed the rifle. She will
be back in her display box for the shipment back to her dealer for a ‘none too
perfect’ work on the barrel. It out by slight uneven groove line near the end
of the barrel which made my shot out of position by one centimeter, which I
have compensated with my bullet casing; nick of the edge to push the trajectory
back to correct the adjustment for the barrel. She is packed up and sealed in
the courier box, and I am in my car. I turned the ignition key and paused with
my breath held in. It's a ritual of mine since Carlos died in his car explosion
not 20 meters away from mine in the car park. It's been months now but I still
remember every detail of that explosion. It's like a sniper’s bullet in your
head; you don’t feel for it or knows it's coming at all. It just comes and then
it's over.
But it's not; the
bullet came in through the front window windscreen and slammed into my right
shoulder. The projectile penetrated my jacket into my body flesh before its
exit from the back into the car seat cushion. It's also .338 and it's fired
from someone in front of the car from a distance. If I had not moved my body to
the side to pull my seat belt, the bullet would have hit me dead center. I
slowly unbuckle the seat belt and tried to move my body. Its hurts like a hot
iron have been placed inside my wound. I unlocked the car door and opened it.
The shooter has not shot as yet or waited for me to act more before the next
shot comes in. But there is none as yet.
I climbed out ever
slow until I can lower myself down on the ground outside the car. Then I
remembered the rifle in the case. I reached for it and managed to pull at it on
the edge. I inched it to me ever slowly until I have a firm grip. I pulled the
box by my left hand towards me. I laid the case next to me as I evaluated my
current position. To my right is the refuge big bins. It may offer me some
solid cover and time to bandage my wound. I took out the rifle and checked the
clip. It's still there and I left the rifle on my lap. I picked up the case and
threw it over towards the bin. It fell short just beside the bin. Truly not my
day but maybe it's as the shooter has not fired yet.
Good move on the
shooter; toying with my condition. No waste of bullets but the game of patience.
So be it, we will sit it out. I tore strips of the undershirt of mine and
bandaged the shoulder. Once that is secured, I looked at my watch. It's almost
an hour since the shot came in. If I am the shooter, I will have to move by now
or still aiming at me. I will take the second option as I would do so in this
art of shooting. It's part of the training. I started the car ignition and
jammed the rifle in the accelerator. Then I pushed in the gear and rolled away.
The car sped to the front and the shooter did not fire. But by then I was
behind the bin and I had pulled out my Glock. I can hear the car crashing at
the end of the alley. Still no shot. Maybe the shooter is gone.
I got up slowly
and peeked over the bin, and saw nothing to indicate where the shooter was
firing from. I made my way up and walked out of the bin cover. No shots yet, so
the shooter has left. I turned to walk to the road outside the alley, but then
I saw the shadow before me. It's the shooter in front of me with the raised
rifle. The shot came and hit my chest flinging me back by a few feet. I landed
on my back and I am bleeding badly. My breathing is getting harder and I can
feel my life seeping away. I looked at the shooter standing before me.
‘You learned well,
my student.’ The shooter whom I have spent the time to train to be what a true
assassin should be now standing before me. ‘I am proud to die at your hands
than another. But you displayed the same qualities as before. Patience is not
in you. I taught you to stay and complete the shot, not moved to do it close
range.’
‘True, I
improvised and more to it. I like the personal grace de coup up close. I want
to see the fear of the victim when I pull the trigger.'
‘So you did, but
you should have check if I am unarmed.’ I shot the shooter in the head between
the eyes. It's my 100th notch on the record book. And today is the other
shooter's sixteenth birthday. With both our death, the world of assassins has
much to do to replace us in the ranks especially when both of us are ladies in
the profession. Or rarely thought of mother and daughter tag-team.
No comments:
Post a Comment