Sniper (Women of the United Federation Marines Book 2)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Curiously, to Gracie, at least, the head hadn’t exploded into the proverbial pink mist. Maybe her round had just been moving too quickly to start to tumble after it hit.

  Why am I worrying about that? she asked herself as she stood up to get a better view.

  One of the Golf Company Marines—it looked like Sergeant Priest—walked up to the pair, leveled her massive Piedmaster handgun, and simply blew the civilian’s head completely off his shoulders.

  “He was already dead,” Gracie protested to Eli as if she was afraid of not getting credit for the kill.

  “Don’t let go, Marine!” a voice called out from below them.

  Priest, First Sergeant Pele, and two more Marines surrounded the dead body and other Marine, reaching over to cover her hands, which was still clutched in the dead man’s hand.

  “We’ve got it now,” the first sergeant said calmly, but loud enough for Gracie to hear from 15 meters away. “Keep holding it, and we’ll get someone here to disarm this guy.”

  The Marine looked up in a daze, and Gracie realized that the big Marine was female, not male. The SevRev, because that’s who the man had to be, was quite a big man himself. Gracie was impressed that the Marine had been able to keep him from detonating whatever bomb he had on him. And now she was in it deep. The first sergeant was zip-tying her hands and that of two more Marines around the dead body’s hand. They weren’t going anywhere until EOD diffused the situation.

  Man, sucks to be you, she thought with more than a little admiration.

  “Did he say disarm?” Eli asked.

  “Yeah, and I think we’d better get down like now!”

  Eli started to climb down there, but Gracie grabbed him and pulled him to the other side, away from the potential bomb blast. She didn’t wait for help but jumped down. Eli tossed her the sniper case and the broken scope and jumped down after her.

  An EOD Marine, in his bulky blast suit, came jogging up as the area was being cleared of all Marines and hostages. After a hundred meters, Gracie looked back. The EOD Marine was bending over the four people—well, three Marines and a hunk of dead meat.

  “Hang in there, Marines,” she muttered before turning to follow Eli out of the blast area.

  Chapter 8

  “And that’s about it from the CO. She’s pretty pleased with us,” Lieutenant Wadden said. “So, that’s about it for now, unless there are any saved rounds?”

  No one had anything, so he continued with, “Gunny, I’ll leave the retrograde in your hands. Top Della Corte will let you know when we’re up. Other than that, relax the best you can, and I’ll see you back aboard the Klipspringer.”

  The fact that the S4 Chief had somehow scrounged up trucks to take them back to the stadium had been welcomed news. A couple of klicks wasn’t much, but the general consensus was why walk when you could ride?

  Gracie thought the ship’s shuttles could have landed right there at the assembly area, but with hostages still being processed, maybe the stadium was more secure. She looked over at the pile of rubble that had been the Rose Garden Farmer’s Market. Smoke still rose from several sources within the pile of rocks. Under that rubble were the bodies of upwards of 450 citizens, people who’d done nothing wrong two days ago, but found themselves on the slippery slope to their demise. The local volunteer fire department had arrived on the scene, and with an FCDC rescue team, was just starting the long recovery process.

  It wasn’t just hostages under the rubble; there were from 30 to 40 SevRevs in there as well. Gracie had zeroed five of them before the market went up, and a few minutes later, she’d killed another not 30 meters from where she now stood. And she felt—fine. Nothing different. She thought she would have felt something significant one way or the other. But other than pride as doing her job, she didn’t feel much, and certainly no regret.

  Gracie thought she was a normal human being, whatever “normal” was. She liked puppies and babies. She’d help a little old lady across the street if needed. In high school, she’d been a volunteer tutor for the primary students. She was a nice person. But she’d just killed five human beings, and she was fine with it. They deserved to die, and she’d just been the instrument.

  “Righteous job, Crow,” Staff Sergeant Riopel said. “No, not just rightgeous. That was fucking premier.”

  “You zeroed six of them, right?” Zach said from beside the section leader.

  Most of the platoon had arrived just as the lieutenant had started his brief, and this was the first time they’d had a chance to speak with her. More than a few had been shocked when the lieutenant had mentioned her tally. Brick Liogeni, in Bravo Section, had nailed two SevRevs, and only two others had even gotten one kill.

  Gracie involuntarily backed up a step as 16 of her fellow Marines crowded close.

  “Uh, yeah. It looks like six,” she admitted, almost warily.

  “You could have at least left some for the rest of us,” Sergeant Manuel Chun said.

  For a moment, Gracie thought the sergeant was serious, but when Zach laughed and said, “Not that it would have done you any good, Manny. You need to be able to hit something, first,” and the rest of the platoon broke into laughter, she knew he’d been joking.

  “Can I, I mean we, can we see the spool?” Staff Sergeant Riopel asked.

  She understood his hesitancy in asking. Technically, the recording made by her scope would go to the S2 first, and only then be disseminated to the rest of the staff and back to the platoon. But Gracie wasn’t so hide-bound to proper procedures that she wouldn’t have shown her section leader it if she could.

  She sheepishly pulled the mangled body of the scope out of her cargo pocket and held it up.

  “I kinda broke it.”

  “Hell, Crow, that’ll cost you ten month’s salary to pay that back,” Zach said to more laughter. “What’d you do to it?”

  “I’ve got it here!” Eli interrupted. “I’ve got every shot on the truthteller.”

  “Well don’t stand there, my lad. Let’s get it up and running,” Staff Sergeant Kwami, the Bravo section leader said. “We want to see that shit.”

  Eli snapped down the tripod legs, turned the unit on, and backed to just before Gracie took out the SevRev on the roof. The other Marines crowded around like lions on a kill. Gracie was almost pushed back, but that was okay with her.

  The next several minutes were punctuated with “damns,” “shit-hots,” and “ooh-rahs” as the recording related what happened.

  There was a pause then some said, “I only counted five!”

  “Wait,” Eli said. “I’ll fast forward.”

  A moment later, there was a collective mumble of exclamations, with a single “No fucking way” breaking through the rumble of noise to reach her.

  “Run it again,” someone else said while the rest jumped in to agree.

  Gracie stood back, almost as if she wasn’t part of the platoon. She was human, so she liked the comments being made as the rest watched the recording for the fourth and fifth times, but she felt a little apprehensive for some unknown reason. In ones and twos, Marine turned from the truthteller and congratulated her. Everyone seemed happy for her.

  Zach, when he shook her hand, turned back to the rest, put his arm around her shoulder, and loudly announced, “I taught her everything she knows!”

  Gracie flinched when he put his arm around her, but with the others throwing covers and ration packages at Zach, she didn’t think he noticed.

  As Eli started to stow his truthteller, Marines went back to their field rations. Gracie pulled out her own Meatballs with Penne in Sauce, one of the more palatable meals, and sat down to eat. Three of her platoon mates sat down around her and started asking her questions about her engagement. In her enthusiasm for the art of being a sniper, she forgot her social reticence and delved right into the hows and wherefores of each shot.

  Time flew by, and she was surprised when gunny came back and said, “OK, up and at ’em. We’ve got the next truck. Sectio
n leaders, get your people ready.

  Gracie crammed the empty ration package in her cargo pocket and stood up. Tradition had it that the ship’s company put on a feast for returning Marines, and she was looking forward to that.

  “Crow, where’s your sidekick?” Staff Sergeant Riopel asked.

  Gracie looked around. Eli had dropped off the sniper case a while back and walked off. Gracie thought he’d been going to use the head, which had some long lines around it. She couldn’t see him, though.

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  “Well, you’d better find him.”

  She picked up the case and walked to the restroom. Two Marines were waiting in the men’s line.

  “Gittens, you in there?” she shouted into the entrance.

  There was no response.

  “Gittens!”

  The two waiting Marines looked at her curiously. Gracie waited a moment more before turning and striding off.

  Where the hell is he? she wondered. If he’s slacking off, I’ll have his balls.

  She’d felt pretty good discussing the action with the other three Marines, but now she felt a rise of anger spoil her mood. Eli was her charge, her only charge, and if she couldn’t control him, she didn’t deserve to be an NCO.

  She returned to the platoon, who were all mounted up and ready to move out. She was about to tell Staff Sergeant Riopel when she caught sight of someone running from the direction of the market towards them. She stared for a moment before recognizing the figure as Eli. She felt both relief and anger.

  She moved forward to the edge of the assembly area and waited while a slow burn took over her.

  “Gittens! We’re moving out, and you decide to go sightseeing? Riopel’s on my ass, and you’re just gone?”

  “Sorry,” he managed to get out as he panted for breath.

  “Sorry? What kind of answer is that? You screwed up big time, and you’re going to pay. And just what the hell were you doing?” she asked, hands on her hips as she glared at the junior Marine.

  Instead of answering, Eli slowly held out a clenched hand and opened it, exposing a stubby rifle round.

  “What’s that? You were souvenir hunting?”

  “I saw the 52, you know, the one your first kill had. I saw it when I was slow-moing the spool for the rest of the guys. When the market blew, it flew up and landed over there,” he said, cocking a thumb back over his shoulder and towards the market. “I figured I could find it, so I went looking. I got this out of the mag.”

  And it hit Gracie.

  She’d become a HOG today, a Hunter of Gunmen, and there was a tradition with that, or maybe a superstition. It was accepted that every sniper had a bullet with his or her name on it. If you could take that round and keep it, it could never be used against you. All HOGs kept a round on a chord around his or her neck

  When a sniper first killed someone, the strongest juju was to take a round from that dead enemy and make that the charm. The problem with that was that snipers often took extremely long distance shots, and the target could be in the midst of the enemy positions and could not be recovered, so it was rare when that happened.

  Eli had gone out into there and found her first victim’s weapon and retrieved a round from it. He’d recovered the bullet with her name on it.

  She reached out and took the round from his hand. The UKI-52 fired a short-chambered .308 jacketed round. It had to be the ugliest round in use, but it had taken its toll over the years. It felt heavy in her hand.

  Her throat choked up. Many men had tried to give her presents over her short years, and she’d refused each one. This, however, was different. Eli had given it to her as one Marine to another. He knew the significance of it, and he’d risked a boatload of trouble to retrieve it.

  She slipped the round into her breast pocket and said, “Well, thank you. But Riopel’s going to have our ass, so we’ve got to move it.”

  She turned and started jogging down the gentle slope to where the platoon was lined up, the first of them already clambering into the bed of a dump truck. With each step, the round inside the pocket bounced against her breast.

  It felt good.

  TARAWA

  Chapter 9

  6

  Gracie increased the resistance and leaned into the bike. Her thighs were burning, but she had two minutes at this level, and she wasn’t going to back down. The time seemed to creep, each second taking an eternity to wind down.

  Most of the others on the bikes had the VR helmets on. The helmets lowered around the shoulders and formed a half-sphere a meter in diameter. Any number of scenarios were displayed on the inner surface of the sphere, and by linking up, a riding partner’s image could be displayed as well, allowing two people to ride up Kilimanjaro on Earth or through the Canyon of Kings on Century 2, chatting with each other as if on a leisurely jaunt. Gracie had tried the VRs, and she had to admit that the tech was amazing. It really was as if the rider was transported to some exotic location. But Gracie wasn’t riding for fun. It was her job to remain in good physical condition, and she biked as part of her exercise regime. Using the VR helmets made it too much of a carnival ride for her, and that took away from her intent.

  Finally, the last second ticked away, and she entered her cool-down. She took a quick glance at the clock on the bike display. If she were going to make it to the Down ’N Out, she’d have to quit pretty soon and shower. Tamara Veal, the lance corporal who’d gotten into the wrestling match with the SevRev on Wyxy had tracked her down as the one who’d taken the terrorist out, and she’d invited Gracie for a beer at the bar out in town.

  Barely pedaling the bike as she cooled off, she looked around the gym. It was pretty full as Marines got in their workouts. Many of the Marines were exercising together. For some of the groups, it seemed more of a social occasion than PT. That was a foreign concept for her. She sometimes asked others for a spot while lifting, but exercise was an individual effort as far as she was concerned. The only thing that worked was what each person put into the session, not gabbing about the latest flick or who won the latest football tournament.

  That’s what she told herself, at least. Intellectually, that was true, but she had to admit that it would be nice sometimes to have a workout partner. She and Eli had gone to the gym a few times to exercise together, but when on the free weights, he lifted so much heavier than her to make them lifting together more of a hassle than anything else.

  Across from the cardio deck, she watched two female Marines lift. It looked like they were more in her range. They were standing side-by-side, egging each other on with their curls until one of them dropped her dumbbells with a laugh. The other managed two more curls before dropping hers and punching her friend in the biceps.

  She fleetingly wondered what it would be like to have a friend in the unit. She thought a female Marine might be a better fit, but she was the only female in the platoon. Things were better with the platoon ever since Wyxy, but there was still somewhat of a distance between the other snipers and her. She wasn’t sure if that was because of them or her.

  Probably me, she thought sourly.

  On one hand, she’d proven that she had the goods. No one doubted that she’d earned her place in the platoon. On the other hand, though, no one was particularly friendly with her. It seemed that whenever someone initiated a conversation with her, it was only about shooting, nothing else.

  Back in Montana, the Billings Bisons Specball team had a center-major named Diego Nolan. For his year with the team, before he was called, up, he pretty much carried the Bisons on his shoulders all the way to the Mountain League championship. The thing is, from all reports, he was a total asshole, both to fans and to his teammates. No one liked him as a person. He didn’t get sponsorships or advertising gigs, and fans didn’t wait after the games for his autograph. Everyone was glad he was on the team, glad that he set the league record for goals scored, glad that because of him, the team had the championship banner hanging in the stadium.
But no one liked him, and when he was called up, no one shed a tear.

  Gracie could see a similarity here. Every one of the others treated her professionally, and they seemed to respect her. She wasn’t sure that anyone liked her, though, not even Eli.

  She realized that she’d pretty much slammed the door on socializing early on when Zach asked her out, and that had to have affected how others related to her. But she was not looking to hook up with anyone, at least anyone in her platoon. It would be nice, however, to be able to be friends as well as co-workers.

  She stopped her pedaling. The two Marines across the gym were now on the bench, the one spotting shouting to encourage the other to get the bar up. She watched for a moment, then shrugged.

  Gracie knew she had to leave if she was going to meet Lance Corporal Veal out in town for that beer, and wasn’t that what she’d just been contemplating? Being more social?

  Screw it, she thought. I don’t need that.

  She set her timer for another 45 minutes and started pedaling again.

  Chapter 10

  6

  “I’m serious about that. You all are spotters now for the duration. I want all of you to back off and let the sniper take over,” Gunny Buttle told the platoon. “They need to be ready to step up, but they won’t be able to unless they’ve had the experience.”

  “Yeah, remember that, spotter,” Dave Oesper said to Kierk. “I’m in charge now.”

  “Yahs suh, Sniper, suh!” Kierk said, snapping an exaggerated salute.

  Gracie stole a glance at Eli. He was excited. For three days, he would be in charge, from conducting the infiltration to selecting the site to taking out the target. The platoon had the entire R505b range to themselves, over 25,000 hectares of wilderness in which to work. Each team was being assigned their individual target, a level 3 simulacrum that moved pretty much like a real human.