The shells whistled as they came in, 155mm rounds fired from over fifteen kilometres away. People think artillery inaccurate but modern-day artillery can be placed with extreme accuracy, especially these 155mm M982 Excalibur rounds with GPS targeting capability. The gun-crews knew their business as the rounds fell with targeted precision. The booming of explosions, low rumble of buildings collapsing and, strangely enough, my own heartbeat is all I could hear. I sat in the bunker, dark and dank, waiting it out, afraid; Not afraid of dying...no...I was more fearful of dying before I had the chance to make a difference. To take up arms and send some of those fuckers to hell.
- Anonymous -
So many thought it wouldn't happen and went on with life as usual. I don't blame them; ignorance is bliss.
I was prepared, I've always been prepared. People used to think me ridiculous, preparing for what may never come...but they hadn't been what I'd been through nor seen what I had seen. So, I ignored them, prepared, and waited. I still wait, here in this bunker, but soon it'll be my time.
When the first shells dropped I descended into, what I hoped, wouldn't be my final resting place and waited it out. Days were spent cleaning guns, checking and rechecking equipment, making more ammunition and trying to sleep. I'd get precious little sleep in the time to come so when I could, I did.
I ventured out in the early morning and evening to get a visual read on the situation. The shelling was doing its work, devastation confronted me on all sides. People moved about still, but the roads were choked with cars and people, debris and death; an exodus of humanity to...who knows where. I went back to my basement and back to work. More ammunition, gun cleaning, equipment checks and sleep when I could...I was going nowhere I was staying to fight...and probably die.
The shelling was slowing. The tanks would roll now, followed by APC's, LAV's, trucks and troops on foot; I'd seen it before. I went back to the familiar job of preparing equipment knowing that what I did now may mitigate a malfunction later when it counted. Preparation. I slept too, communicated a little with some others who stayed but we kept it to a minimum not knowing the capabilities of the enemy.
Most were dead or had fled to neighbouring countries. The rag-tag military were doing their best but their best was woefully inadequate. They seemed more intent upon media propaganda than any real fighting.
I allowed myself to check the media reports now and then but it was all rubbish, propaganda created by my own politicians to inspire help from outside the country. I'd even seen our own troops blow up a school and kindergarten then a day later the media reported it as the enemy targeting civilians. It was all upside down. Typical, people believed anything. I'll be into it soon, and maybe sooner or later, it'll no longer matter.
What I knew for certain was there was a fight waiting for me outside my door; one I'd eventually lose.
It was getting difficult to move about now but I risked it to learn the lay of the land. A city I'd known so well, ordered streets, parks, buildings...all was now smoking rubble and virtually devoid of humanity. At least the shelling had stopped, but I knew the armoured columns were only kilometres away, mopping up the thin resistance the military put up, and would soon be heading in; I'd seen recon patrols from afar, probing, sending sitrep's back to the main column. Soon it would be time to to work.
I made contact with a few others and we decided to work together. We had worked out how to move about in the shattered city using the partially-collapsed subway, basements, destroyed buildings and, when required, the surface and open streets. The latter wouldn't last long though as the tanks and troops were rolling in destroying anything that showed itself.
I carried what I'd need for three days at all times not sure if I'd make it back to my bunker each day.
I'd taken time to stash additional ammunition, food and water in caches around my immediate area of operation, some four by four kilometres in size. It's not much or an area, but moving through the destroyed city with enemy troops everywhere wasn't easy so ranging much father was almost impossible.
The round impacted at centre-mass, squarely in the upper chest, just above the plate-armour of the tac-vest he wore. Through the scope I saw the blood fountain from the hole and the, almost surprised, face of the man corpse. He slumped backward on the turret and almost immediately the tank came to a halt. Time to move. Staying in the same location for more than one shot wasn't smart, if they got a bead on me and sent a round I'd be vaporised.
It took me two hours to travel a kilometre to the east and another three waiting for a target but it was worth it. I took out an officer and his subordinate officer, one in the back of the head and the other in the neck...I took small arms fire immediately but from my snipers hide, thirteen hundred metres away, their fire was ineffective. They weren't going to take me today, I thought as I backed out and scarpered off to my bunker for some sleep.
Seventeen of those fuckers won't be going home. I'd cut a notch in the stock of my rifle for the seventeenth right before I hunkered down for a bite to eat and quick sleep.
It was increasingly difficult to move as patrols swept the area looking for us snipers. I'm not sure how many of us were operating, five I knew of, but I'd say more. Well four I guess now as I'd found one hanging on a tree yesterday. They'd stripped him, strung him up by his feet and opened his throat. I saw they'd tormented him first, poked his eyes out, cut off his index (trigger) fingers and carved their mark into his chest. I knew I'd face the same if caught.
I was on the news today. Well, kind of.
The worlds media are reporting on civilian snipers targeting enemy officers. I don't know how the word got out...I guess one of the snipers posted something on social media. What a fuck head. Does he think the enemy don't have social media?
Since the story broke I've not been able to move much due to increased enemy patrolling although they are sweeping through and moving on to the next city now. I'd expected this, but they still occupy and they'd stepped up their patrols as well which made life difficult. I didn't much like the sound of being a patriotic hero on social media though, all I wanted to do was kill as many of the enemy before they killed me.
I'm not sure why I'm writing in my notebook anymore, why I bother. I feel detached from reality, from humanity. I spend most of my waking hours immobile and scoping for targets, moving about in the rubble, hiding, and occasionally popping someone's head like a melon with a bullet. One of the enemy soldiers may take my notebook as a souvenir when I'm dead I guess, or maybe it'll get vaporised along with myself by a tank round or mortar shell. But I write still...It orders my mind somewhat and gives me a moment of respite now and then and, whist I have little hope for myself, maybe someone might find, and read it.
I've fired twenty nine rounds and taken twenty eight lives with all but one being an officer. I target them specifically as it demoralises the enlisted men, disrupts their chain of command and shows a complete lack of respect. That last makes me smile. Fuckers.
Today I had to run for my life and almost didn't make it. I lost one of my caches, they dropped a couple hand grenades in the nook and bye bye equipment. I made it back to my bunker, now partially open to the air due to a collapse and fortunately wasn't followed. I guess that's the benefit of being a sniper and having a long reach...troops on foot are wary. My bunker is still safe for now, despite being partially destroyed however I have to be more cautious with light-discipline. I need to sleep....A shower would be good too...But there's no hope of that.
I took three today and my tally is thirty five for thirty seven rounds. Those two misses irk me but in truth I'm beyond caring. I'm...tired.
I twisted my ankle and fell hitting my head hard yesterday. I can't see well from my left eye and the injury makes traversing the rough urban terrain difficult. I'm slow. Running away isn't an option right now. The headache is incessant and I feel myself fading.
My heart hurts. I'm alone and lonely; I hadn't prepared for the feeling of isolation, the constant intensity of operating behind enemy lines in which every moment could be one's last and the best one could hope for was a clean death - The alternative was never going to be nice. I knew there was no help coming, just endless days of stalking, shooting, hiding and running...Well, the last wasn't happening for a while because of my ankle. I'd just keep going though, until I could not.
I laid in a temporary hide all day and watched the troops below in a park where they've set up a camp. It reminded me of how the pilgrims would circle their wagons in the old west as their APC's and LAV's were in a ring. They seemed unafraid.
I'm not surprised, the media had apparently announced that all the patriotic civilian snipers were dead. They were almost right, but as usual those stupid fuckers had gotten it wrong; damned media. I wasn't dead. Not yet.
I watched one soldier in particular. Just a kid to my eyes, maybe twenty. He looked out of place. I was six hundred metres away but my scope brought his face in very close. He pretended to laugh at the jokes of the others but I could tell his heart wasn't in it. He sat slightly apart as they ate by a fire and then moved off to tend his rifle and equipment. I watched as he took a notebook from his pocket and began writing. It reminded me of myself; the notebook thing.
I wondered if he was pressed into service, conscripted. I wondered if he wanted to be here but didn't think so. He probably wanted to be at home, chasing girls, hanging out at the mall with his friends...But here he was. Me? Well, I wanted to be here. It was my home. I knew I'd never leave. I'd die here, in pain and agony or in a split second, and then I'd not be home anymore I'd be...somewhere else...But I'd die in a land that was my own and that gave me comfort.
I thought about the lad, someone's son as I dialled in another 0.5 MRAD of elevation and rechecked the wind, three miles an hour full-value from the right...I held-over for it on the reticle, settled, breathed in and exhaled then squeezed. The round struck the soldier in the chest knocking him over. The others scrambled for cover and I took one more. They were all cowering behind the vehicles but I had my crosshairs on the top of one soldiers head...and then the top of his head was gone. Three down for a total of thirty eight kills. A good day's work.
I scoped for signs of activity but those fuckers were keeping their heads down which would help me make me exfil. As I did my scope found the lad with the notebook. He'd stood up and was looking directly at me though it was unlikely he knew exactly where I was. I put my cross hairs between his eyes and settled for the shot...Crazy fucker, I'll send you to hell, I thought. But I didn't. He just stood there looking at me, seemingly eye to eye through my scope. In his eyes I saw...Sorrow? Remorse? I didn't know...I didn't see a soldier though. Just a kid.
I released the trigger-pressure, took one last look and backed away out of my hide.
[A fiction]
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default - Tomorrow isn't promised so be humble and kind
The image is my own
