by Scott McEwen
After almost ten minutes, the Chechens began to grow restless, whispering back and forth across their line. A few minutes after that, all but one of them pulled slowly back and resumed the pursuit.
Gil stayed where he was, watching the spooked Chechen who’d been left behind to cover the rear.
He waited until the man displaced to better cover; then he shouldered the rifle and shot him through the neck.
A hundred yards farther on, Gil came across Maxim’s body. He saw the Russian was still alive and knelt to check his wounds. It was obvious the young man didn’t have long to live. He put back the hood of the ghillie suit, and the Russian opened his eyes, recognizing Gil.
“Umarov?” he asked.
Gil drew a finger across his throat, and the Spetsnaz man smiled. He died a few moments later, and Gil moved out.
He caught back up to the posse shortly after they’d left the forest to descend into the river valley that led downhill to the west toward the bridge. He took cover in the tree line and picked off eleven of them over open sights before they realized they were being fired upon. When the rest finally did realize what was going on, there was nothing they could do about it. Gil was so well camouflaged, they couldn’t tell where the shots were coming from. So they ran. They ran as fast as they could over open terrain—and Gil killed ten more of them before finally tossing aside the AK-105 and unslinging the .338.
He looked through the scope to see thirty more Chechens stretched out along the riverbank in hot pursuit of Yablonsky and his men. The Spetsnaz team was in full sprint for the bridge that still lay five hundred yards ahead. The Chechens fired wildly as they ran, but there were at least five hundred yards between the two parties, and the Chechens were too tired for accurate shooting at that range.
Gil set up the bipod and positioned himself behind the rifle. He shot the man closest to Yablonsky in the small of the back from almost eight hundred yards. Then he worked the bolt and fired again, picking off the next closest man. He shot them off the riverbank one at a time, working his way back.
The Chechens gave up the chase and sought whatever cover they could along the riverbank.
Yablonsky and his men pulled up short, stopping to launch the last of their 40 mm grenades in a high arc, blowing the Chechens off the bank and into the river. Then they watched as the last one was picked off by sniper fire, hearing Gil’s shot echoing down through the valley.
The Spetsnaz men held their positions, watching Gil come walking down the side of the mountain carrying the .338 in his right hand, with the ghillie suit draped over his left arm. A French Puma and a heavily armed Cayuse helicopter flew into the valley and hovered high over the southern bridgehead without crossing into Russian airspace.
When Gil finally limped up, he smiled and offered Yablonsky the ghillie suit. “This was Kovalenko’s leshy. I thought you might offer it to Putin as a souvenir, with my compliments.”
Yablonsky smiled back, accepting the suit and passing it off to one of his men. “Umarov is dead?”
“You bet.”
The Russian gestured across the river. “Are those helicopters here for us?”
“They better be,” Gil said, setting off for the bridge. “I’m in no shape for walkin’ home.”
The helos landed as they walked along the bank.
“I got close to Mukhammad,” Gil said, “but I didn’t have a shot.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Yablonsky said. “He doesn’t have the influence that Umarov had. Not yet, at least.”
They were met halfway across the bridge by Mason and three other heavily armed men. There was also a civilian among them, a man in his forties with thinning blond hair wearing a North Face jacket.
Gil returned Mason’s sniper rifle. “I lost your ruck. I’m sorry.”
Mason accepted the weapon. “You brought back the part that counts, Chief.”
“Master Chief Shannon,” said the civilian. “I’m Parker Smith with the US Embassy in Tbilisi. I was sent by the State Department to debrief you on the elimination of Dokka Umarov. There’s some concern that we won’t be able to confirm his death because you chose to kill him with a headshot, so I need you to—”
“Give me your hand,” Gil said.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, give me your hand.”
Smith was reluctant but did as he was told.
Gil put the thumb of Dokka Umarov into the palm of Smith’s hand and closed his fingers tightly over it. “This is all the DNA you and the State Department will need for confirmation. Now fuck off.”
Gil turned and limped away toward the waiting helos. “Come on, Colonel. First beer’s on me.”
Smith opened his hand and turned green, stepping to the side of the bridge and retching over the railing.
EPILOGUE
PARIS,
France
Three months later, Gil and Crosswhite were walking across a self-storage lot on the outskirts of Paris, not far from the rail yard where Gil had his first run-in with Kovalenko.
“So tell me about this girl,” Gil said.
Crosswhite took a drag from a cigarette. “Not much to tell.”
“I know better than that. You moved to a communist country to be with her, for Christ’s sake.”
“It’s actually not all that communist anymore—just dirt poor.”
“So you’re not gonna tell me about her?”
“Well, she’s a little younger than me.”
“How young?”
“Twenty-one.”
Gil chuckled. “Twenty-one’s a good age.”
“She wants to get married soon—have a baby.”
“You should do it,” Gil said, lighting a cigarette of his own. “Be good for you.”
“The idea of havin’ a kid scares me,” Crosswhite said. “And what happens when you get yourself in another jam? Who’s gonna save your ass?”
“Don’t use me to try and wriggle out of it,” Gil said. “Besides, I was just in another jam. You were nowhere around.”
“Yeah, and you damn near died, from what I hear.”
“I damn near died the other two times.”
Crosswhite stopped and turned to face him. “Fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Means I think you should get married and have a baby, dumbass. Be good for you.”
“Yeah,” Crosswhite said with a sigh. “I know it.” They set off walking again. “She’s Catholic. I gotta start goin’ to church on Sundays. I hate fuckin’ church.”
“Christ, it ain’t gonna kill ya,” Gil said. “You’ll have to stop with the drugs, too.”
“Already did. You talk to Marie lately?”
Gil grew immediately sad at the mention of his wife. “She doesn’t want me back until I’m out for good. And I just ain’t ready to quit.”
“You know these young guys comin’ up,” Crosswhite said. “They’re faster, stronger—more dangerous than we are.”
“I know it, partner, but I ain’t ready.”
They stopped in front of the orange overhead door of the storage garage and stood looking at the big white number 9 stenciled on the front of it.
“So what the fuck do you suppose is gonna be in there?” Crosswhite wondered. “A booby trap?”
Gil tossed the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. “I doubt it.”
“You’re absolutely positive you don’t wanna tell Pope about this first?”
“Yeah.” Gil stepped forward and put the key into the lock, giving it a turn. The door went up automatically, and both men stood staring.
“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Crosswhite said.
The phone rang in Gil’s pocket. “Hello?”
“So what’s behind door number nine?” Pope asked.
Gil glanced up at the sky, not at all surprised. “I th
ink you’d better get on a plane and come have a look for yourself.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
© Scott McEwen
Scott McEwen is the number one New York Times bestselling coauthor of American Sniper, now made into a feature film with Clint Eastwood directing and Bradley Cooper playing Chris Kyle, Navy SEAL, CPO, deceased. Scott also coauthored Eyes On Target: Inside Stories from the Brotherhood of the U.S. Navy SEALs. He grew up in the mountains of eastern Oregon, where he became an Eagle Scout, hiking, fishing, and hunting at every opportunity. He obtained his undergraduate degree at Oregon State University and thereafter studied and worked extensively in London, England. Scott practiced law in Southern California before he began writing. Scott works with and provides support for several military charitable organizations, including the Navy SEAL Foundation.
© Thomas Koloniar
Thomas Koloniar is the author of the postapocalyptic novel Cannibal Reign and the coauthor of the national bestseller Sniper Elite: One-Way Trip and Target America. He holds a bachelor of arts degree in English literature from the University of Akron. A retired police officer from Akron, Ohio, he currently lives in Mexico.
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Sniper Elite: One-Way Trip
Target America: A Sniper Elite Novel
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Scott McEwen with Thomas Koloniar
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First Touchstone hardcover edition May 2015
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Jacket design by Jae Song
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McEwen, Scott, author.
The Sniper and the Wolf : a Sniper Elite novel / Scott McEwen with Thomas Koloniar. — First Touchstone Hardcover Edition
pages cm — (A Sniper Elite Novel)
“A Touchstone book.”
1. Snipers—Fiction. 2. United States. Navy. SEALs—Fiction. 3. Undercover operations—Fiction. I. Koloniar, Thomas, author. II. Title.
PS3613.M4355S67 2015
813'.6—dc23
ISBN 978-1-4767-8726-8
ISBN 978-1-4767-8728-2 (ebook)
Contents
* * *
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Epilogue
About the Authors