Sniper Trouble (Draft One)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
Written in first person, we follow the events to follow the troubles of a British Sniper

Submitted: September 09, 2016

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Submitted: September 09, 2016

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As I pulled back the bolt, I heard the bullet ‘chink’ into the chamber, my finger only needing to be pulled back half an inch to send a piece of chemically treated metal to someone’s death. I was on the outskirts of Iraq, the wind circulating dust and sand of my surroundings into the air before dispersing into nothing. I’d been on top of this roof for an hour or so. Roughly 900 metres west was my target, on the ground, amongst a group of ten or eleven armed men. My target appeared to be wearing a camo jumpsuit, similar to the one I was wearing, all be it I highly doubted his was lined with carbon nano-tubing and Kevlar like mine. My target was part of a faction that stormed a Paris magazine company that killed and butchered many innocent people many months ago. SatInt1 had tracked the leader, my target, to here, where it was my duty to put a 50. Cal bullet through his skull. I took my eye off my scope, a Schmidt and Bender 8x Magnification scope, and exhaled slowly. Personally, I always found taking the life of someone quite a blunder. In some sense I was playing the act of God, but at the end of the day it was the pay check that always made me think straight, not only money for myself, but for my daughters future. Besides, my target had a reason to die, and it was something he deserved to say the least. Taking deep breaths to raise the oxygen level in my bloodstream, I placed myself back into the scope and zoomed in on my target furthermore, up until the point where I could see the glistening beads of sweat on his bald head. I loosened my finger, before tensing it and taking the shot. My finger curled, knocking the lever inside the firing mechanism, sending a shudder through my shoulder as the bullet left the barrel at approximately 1,800 feet per second, the sound of the shot echoing over the barren land. Still looking through my scope, I saw my target fall to the floor, a violent stream of blood forming a puddle around his head. I got up, leaving the rifle on the floor before throwing petrol soaked rags on it and setting it ablaze. Bullets smashed into the brickwork behind me, the sound of automatic gunfire ripping through the atmosphere. Jumping over a wall behind to get out of the way, I grabbed my backpack which I had placed there previously, putting it on and sprinting forward before BASE jumping off the building. BASE jumping is classed as one of the most extreme ways to fall from a height. ‘BASE’ stands for ‘Building’ ‘Antenna’ ‘Span’ and ‘Earth’. It’s essentially jumping from a relatively low height and parachuting down, however because it’s unlike jumping out of a plane at 10,000 feet, you reach terminal velocity in a matter of seconds, and this was why it was so extreme.

Your descent was only a matter of seconds as well.

I was roughly 8 stories up and my drop was roughly six seconds before I had to pull my chute. I wrenched open my chute, and jolted backwards sharply. I looked up and thankfully my chute had opened with no issues, and seconds later, my feet touched the floor, sending a shocking amount of pain and force through my knees. I buckled, and rolled over, my parachute wrapping itself around me like some form of nylon cocoon. I crawled out of the mess, embraced the pain and continued forward. I reached my vehicle in easy time, a custom Range Rover Sport with modified suspension and a completely revamped four-wheel-drive system to cope with the terrain. I heard shots and shouts behind me, either they stormed the building from the other side, or saw my jump but either way I didn’t look back. Opening the driver door and slamming it shut behind me, I released the handbrake and turned the ignition. In my rush to get going, I forgot to open the clutch and stalled which really wasn’t what I wanted right now. Re-igniting the engine, clutch open this time, I slammed my foot down and slid the gearstick into first. As I sped off, a cloud of dust erupted behind me whilst I grappled the wheel. A loud ‘thunk’ went off behind me and my ears popped as the tailgate was continuously shot at. A row of bullets splayed across the passenger side of my car, glass attacking me and the inside of my car. I made the accelerator one with the floor, pushing the revs, the suspension taking full brunt of everything. Swerving onto an open road with the speedometer hitting 90 miles per hour, I changed into fourth gear and kept the speed ongoing. I looked in my rear view mirror to see some shitty Nissan Micra trying to keep pace. I couldn’t bring these ‘lovely’ people to my extraction point, so I slowed down until I was level with the Micra, before grabbing my semi-automatic Glock 19 out of the glovebox, lowering what was left of the passenger window, and emptying the contents of the magazine towards the driver of the Micra and his passenger. All I saw was blood and broken glass, before the little Nissan swerved violently off road and crashing into the remains of a burnt out shop. Sure of the fact that no one else was following me on this barren road, I sped on, the Range Rover hitting 160 miles per hour. I reached the extraction point in minutes, the dusty coloured Chinhook2 whipping the ground and air with its huge rotors. The rear door was open and I drove in before halting to a stop. Killing the engine, I stepped out of the car only to be greeted by a substantial amount of pain from my shoulder. Turned out I’d been shot in the shoulder and I hadn’t even noticed it due to the amount of adrenaline cursing through my body. The car was fucked, and as the Chinook closed its rear door and slowly gained altitude, I realised all be it I’d just been through 30 minutes of hell, millions of people wouldn’t.

At least for a couple of months anyway…

 

 

THE END

1: SatInt: Satellite Intelligience 

2: Chinook: A popular military helicopter that can house motor vehicles such as cars, bikes etc.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This material is property of myself, Pav Chandail. At NO POINT is this to be redistributed, copied or printed without my permission. Please contact me at pavanchandail@outlook.com if such need arises.

 


© Copyright 2017 Pav Chandail. All rights reserved.

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